From “Fanny” BUT Fortune, like some others of her sex, Delights in tantalizing and tormenting. One day we feed upon their smiles,—the next Is spent in swearing, sorrowing, and repenting.* * * * * Eve never walked in Paradise more pure Than on that morn when Satan played the devil With her and all her race. A lovesick wooer Ne’er asked a kinder maiden, or more civil, Than Cleopatra was to Antony The day she left him on the Ionian sea. The serpent—loveliest in his coilèd ring, With eye that charms, and beauty that outvies The tints of the rainbow—bears upon his sting The deadliest venom. Ere the dolphin dies Its hues are brightest. Like an infant’s breath Are tropic winds before the voice of death Is heard upon the waters, summoning The midnight earthquake from its sleep of years To do its task of woe. The clouds that fling The lightning brighten ere the bolt appears; The pantings of the warrior’s heart are proud Upon that battle-morn whose night-dews wet his shroud; The sun is loveliest as he sinks to rest; The leaves of autumn smile when fading fast; The swan’s last song is sweetest.
Fortune
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Home of the Percys’ high-born race, Home of their beautiful and brave, Alike their birth and burial place, Their cradle and their grave! Still sternly o’er the castle gate Their house’s Lion stands in state, As in his proud departed hours; And warriors frown in stone on high, And feudal...
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[At Laspi—Ancient Platæa—August 20, 1823] AT midnight, in his guarded tent, The Turk was dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, Should tremble at his power. In dreams, through camp and court, he bore The trophies of a conqueror; In dreams his song of triumph heard;...
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From “Fanny” WEEHAWKEN! In thy mountain scenery yet, All we adore of Nature in her wild And frolic hour of infancy is met; And never has a summer’s morning smiled Upon a lovelier scene than the full eye Of the enthusiast revels on,—when high Amid thy forest solitudes he climbs O’er crags...
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Died in New York, September, 1820 GREEN be the turf above thee, Friend of my better days! None knew thee but to love thee, Nor named thee but to praise. Tears fell, when thou wert dying, From eyes unused to weep, And long, where thou art lying, Will tears the cold turf steep. When hearts...
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From “Fanny” BUT Fortune, like some others of her sex, Delights in tantalizing and tormenting. One day we feed upon their smiles,—the next Is spent in swearing, sorrowing, and repenting.* * * * * Eve never walked in Paradise more pure Than on that morn when...