Vacation memoirs

˹
1906 - 88 ˹
0 Ԩó
Google Ǩͺ ǨһШй͡;
 

Դ繨ҡ - ¹Ԩó

辺Ԩó 觢ŷ

շ辺

˹ 53 - Know ye the land of the cedar and vine, Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine ; Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppressed with perfume, Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gul in her bloom...
˹ 7 - THIS is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.
˹ 88 - WHEN I was a beggarly boy, And lived in a cellar damp, I had not a friend nor a toy, But I had Aladdin's lamp ; When I could not sleep for the cold, I had fire enough in my brain, And builded, with roofs of gold, My beautiful castles in Spain ! Since then I have toiled day and night, I have money and power good store, But...
˹ 13 - A LIFE on the ocean wave, A home on the rolling deep, Where the scattered waters rave, And the winds their revels keep!
˹ 53 - Gul in her bloom? Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, And the voice of the nightingale never is mute, Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky, In colour though varied, in beauty may vie...
˹ 53 - In colour though varied, in beauty may vie, And the purple of ocean is deepest in dye ; Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine, And all, save the spirit of man, is divine ? 'Tis the clime of the East ; 'tis the land of the Sun Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done ?f Oh ! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell.
˹ 7 - This is the forest primeval ; but where are the hearts that beneath it Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice...
˹ 44 - he who comes to me, tortured by thirst, will find water, pure and fresh, sweet and unmixed. I am like the rainbow, when it shines, and the sun is my lord.
˹ 6 - And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days; Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays; Whether we look, or whether we listen, We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; Every clod feels a stir of might, An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And, groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers...
˹ 13 - And the song of our hearts shall be, While the winds and the waters rave, A home on the rolling sea! A life on the ocean wave!

óҹء