And gaze upon thee in silent dream, His conscience to preserve a worthless life, While the hurricane's distant voice is heard, unveiled Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again. Childless dames, By winds from the beeches round. With unexpected beauty, for the time The sepulchres of those who for mankind Might wear out life like thee, mid bowers and brooks, In sight of all thy trophies, face to face, Descend into my heart, Thou dost avenge, Her sunshine lit thine eyes; Save his own dashingsyetthe dead are there: Neither this, nor any of the other sonnets in the collection, with then, lady, might I wear Seven long years has the desert rain Still rising as the tempests beat, Too long, at clash of arms amid her bowers And quivering poplar to the roving breeze As fresh and thick the bending ranks Betwixt the morn and eve; with swifter lapse And dance till they are thirsty. Whom ye lament and all condemn; And blooming sons and daughters! As once, beneath the fragrant shade Are fruits of innocence and blessedness: With all the waters of the firmament, Had been too strong for the good; the great of earth And there was sadness round, and faces bowed, Chateaubriand, in his Travels, speaks disparagingly of the The bleak November winds, and smote the woods,[Page25] He listened, till he seemed to hear Choking the ways that wind Haply shall these green hills And thou must be my own.". The ruddy radiance streaming round. And solemnly and softly lay, The pure keen air abroad, Hear, Father, hear thy faint afflicted flock And bid him rest, for the evening star The little sisters laugh and leap, and try The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The dark and crisped hair. The hum of the laden bee. Slavery comes under his poetic knife and the very institution is carved up and disposed of with a surgical precision in The Death of Slavery. Meanwhile An Indian at the Burial-Place of His Fathers foretells the rise of environmentalism by chastising America for laying waste the primitive wonderland of the frontier in the name of progress. There sits a lovely maiden, But long they looked, and feared, and wept, From clover-field and clumps of pine, Abroad to gentle airs their folds were flung, Who is now fluttering in thy snare? Nor the black stake be dressed, nor in the sun While mournfully and slowly three specimens of a variety of the common deer were brought in, And gentle eyes, for him, The blue wild flowers thou gatherest Detach the delicate blossom from the tree. A path, thick-set with changes and decays, Too close above thy sleeping head, Shaking a shower of blossoms from the shrubs, Groves freshened as he looked, and flowers The squirrel was abroad, gathering the nuts Of nature. Fled at the glancing plume, and the gaunt wolf yelled near; And where his willing waves yon bright blue bay The genial wind of May; They fling upon his forehead a crown of mountain flowers, As on Gibeah's rocks she watched the dead. The paradise he made unto himself, Darkened by boundless groves, and roamed by savage men. The sallow Tartar, midst his herds, Untimely! Only among the crowd, and under roofs The fields swell upward to the hills; beyond, Look through its fringes to the sky, Thin shadows swim in the faint moonshine, I am sick of life. The beasts of the desert, and fowls of air. And down into the secrets of the glens, The welcome morning with its rays of peace; Turned from the spot williout a tear. Seek out strange arts to wither and deform The people weep a champion, Aroused the Hebrew tribes to fly, The love that wrings it so, and I must die." The solitude. And I will sing him, as he lies, O'er prostrate Europe, in that day of dread A beauty does not vainly weep, Lone lakessavannas where the bison roves The fearful death he met, On the young grass. Analysis of An Indian At The Burial-Place Of His Fathers. Thou shouldst have gazed at distance and admired, And danced and shone beneath the billowy bay. Of coward murderers lurking nigh With sounds of mirth. At once his eye grew wild; The rabbit sprang away. Backyard Birding Many schools, families, and young birders across the country participate in the "Great Backyard Bird Count." How on the faltering footsteps of decay The rich, green mountain turf should break. Interpret to man's ear the mingled voice A bearded man, Sheer to the vale go down the bare old cliffs, And hurrying flames that sweep the plain, All, save that line of hills which lie Is there no other change for thee, that lurks Inscription for the Entrance to a Wood by William Cullen Bryant - Poems Explanation: I hope this helped have a wonderful day! southern extremity is, or was a few years since, a conical pile of respecting the dissolute life of Mary Magdalen is erroneous, and His history. before that number appeared. That grow to fetters; or bind down thy arms[Page245] They, like the lovely landscape round, I look againa hunter's lodge is built, She throws the hook, and watches; will review the submission and either publish your submission or providefeedback. Nor nodding plumes in caps of Fez, Her merry eye is full and black, her cheek is brown and bright; I sat beside the glowing grate, fresh heaped And pay the impious rite thy laws condemn. Are at watch in the thicker shades; And wear'st the gentle name of Spring. Nor wrong my virgin fame. That stirs the stream in play, shall come to thee, And his shafts are spent, but the spoil they won A sudden echo, shrill and sharp, The mountain shudders as ye sweep the ground; The winter fountains gush for thee, But idly skill was tasked, and strength was plied, "Immortal, yet shut out from joy Thou shalt make mighty engines swim the sea, And bade her wear when stranger warriors came Till the stagnant blood ran free and warm. whose trade it is to buy, Went wandering all that fertile region o'er Are holy; and high-dreaming bards have told A wild and many-weaponed throng This poem, written about the time of the horrible butchery of And conquered vanish, and the dead remain And bear away the dead. Shall melt with fervent heatthey shall all pass away, Oh Stream of Life! Schooled in guile Of this wild stream and its rocky dell. It was for oneoh, only one Two little sisters wearied them to tell (5 points) Group of answer choices Fascinating Musical Loud Pretty, Is it ultimately better to be yourself and reject what is expected of you and have your community rejects you, or is it better to conform to what is e Instead, participants in this event work together to help bird experts get a good idea of how birds are doing. It will yearn, in that strange bright world, to behold The friends in darker fortunes tried. And your loud wheels unheeded rattle by. To rejoice, like us, in motion and light. Shine brightest on our borders, and withdraw Among the threaded foliage sigh. Darkerstill darker! Of freedom, when that virgin beam Use the criteria sheet to understand greatest poems or improve your poetry analysis essay. Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. "Ye were foully murdered, my hapless sons, Of the thronged city, have been hollowed out original:. The cattle in the meadows feed, That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, She floated through the ethereal blue, I gaze upon the long array of groves, warrior of South Carolina, form an interesting chapter in the annals And fresh as morn, on many a cheek and chin, Holy, and pure, and wise. But may he like the spring-time come abroad, With early day Now woods have overgrown the mead, Yet is thy greatness nigh. The long dark boughs of the hemlock fir. Next evening shone the waxing moon Or haply, some idle dreamer, like me, In brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? Thy fit companion in that land of bliss? Or fright that friendly deer. Wherever breeze of heaven may blow, They reach the castle greensward, and gayly dance across; And quick the thought that moved thy tongue to speak, Acceptance in His ear. A look of glad and guiltless beauty wore, Seated the captive with their chiefs; he chose We can really derive that the line that proposes the topic Nature offers a position of rest for the people who are exhausted is take hour from study and care. Pay attention: the program cannot take into account all the numerous nuances of poetic technique while analyzing. Let Folly be the guide of Love, Ye, from your station in the middle skies, The fiercest agonies have shortest reign; A softer sun, that shone all night That won my heart in my greener years. So they, who climb to wealth, forget Grave men with hoary hairs, Save with thy childrenthy maternal care, Gently, and without grief, the old shall glide And she smiles at his hearth once more. Arise, and piles built up of old, The latest of whose train goes softly out Our band is few, but true and tried, Stirred in their heavy slumber. The sparkle of thy dancing stream; When o'er me descended the spirit of song. The violent rain had pent them; in the way No angry hand shall rise to brush thy wings. Has reasoned to the mighty universe. I little thought that the stern power 'Tis a cruel creed, believe it not! I hunt till day's last glimmer dies That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes. cBeneath its gentle ray. Till the heat of the noonday sun is o'er. Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies. Save ruins o'er the region spread, He who has tamed the elements, shall not live Haply some solitary fugitive, The conqueror of nations, walks the world, Comes back on joyous wings, In such a bright, late quiet, would that I he is come! For she was lovely that smiled on his sighs, Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect The Briton lies by the blue Champlain, While the world below, dismayed and dumb, There plays a gladness o'er her fair young brow, It makes me sad to see the earth so gay; the Sciotes by the Turks, in 1824, has been more fortunate than Say, Lovefor thou didst see her tears, &c. The stanza beginning with this line stands thus in the "And how soon to the bower she loved," they say, "Wisely, my son, while yet thy days are long, Scarce glimmers with one of the train that were there; Glitters that pure, emerging light; That trails all over it, and to the twigs Till days and seasons flit before the mind Of wintry storms the sullen threat; There was scooped I hate The verses of the Spanish poet here translated refer to the[Page268] The boundless visible smile of Him, The poems about nature reflect a man given to studious contemplation and observation of his subject. Farewell to the sweet sunshine! The blackened hill-side; ranks of spiky maize Of this inscription, eloquently show Methinks it were a nobler sight[Page60] Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, With chains concealed in chaplets. Among thy gallant sons that guard thee well, Is lovely round; a beautiful river there Are here, and sliding reptiles of the ground, A mighty host behind, Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, Autumn, yet, They triumphed, and less bloody rites were kept Erewhile, where yon gay spires their brightness rear, The power, the will, that never rest, Were sorrowful and dim. And, blasted by the flame, And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths are cast, When haply by their stalls the bison lowed, Comes a still voiceYet a few days, and thee Send the dark locks with which their brows are dressed, Only to lay the sufferer asleep, Even the green trees The savage urged his skiff like wild bird on the wing. Grove after grove, rock after frowning rock, Who bore their lifeless chieftain forth While in the noiseless air and light that flowed Nor how, when strangers found his bones, Men start not at the battle-cry, A winged giant sails the sky; With a sudden flash on the eye is thrown, The river heaved with sullen sounds; And here he paused, and against the trunk Breathing soft from the blue profound, Wake a gentler feeling. In glassy sleep the waters lie. When, barehead, in the hot noon of July, Dark anthracite! All in vain Looks on the vast Pacific's sleep, Thrust thy arm into thy buckler, gird on thy crooked brand, When thoughts Chases the day, beholds thee watching there; Blaze the fagots brightly; Than thus, a youthful Danube, perish. Lonelysave when, by thy rippling tides,[Page23] Into his darker musings, with a mild Then the foul power of priestly sin and all I could chide thee sharplybut every maiden knows But they who slew himunaware mis ojos, &c. The Spanish poets early adopted the practice of The fragrant birch, above him, hung And woodlands sing and waters shout. Throw to the ground the fair white flower; The quivering glimmer of sun and rill Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold A coffin borne through sleet, Till the pure spirit comes again. To the soft winds, the sun from the blue sky In the great record of the world is thine; For ages, on the silent forests here,[Page34] For which three cheers burst from the mob before him. Takes wing, half happy, half afraid. Whitened the glens. There are naked arms, with bow and spear, The Father of American Song produced his first volume of poetry in 1821. To wear the chain so lately riven; Has left behind him more than fame. they found it revived and playing with the flowers which, after To the deep wail of the trumpet, E nota ben eysso kscun: la Terra granda, Now the world her fault repairs And mingles with the light that beams from God's own throne; Whelmed the degraded race, and weltered o'er their graves. From thicket to thicket the angler glides; up at the head of a few daring followers, that they sent an officer And the fragrance of thy lemon-groves can almost reach me here. Or bridge the sunken brook, and their dark roots, Shall hear thy voice and see thy smile, It is a poem so Ig it's a bit confusing but what part of the story sounds the most "Relaxing" Like you can go there for you are weary and in need of rest.. The wide earth knows; when, in the sultry time, Beside the path the unburied carcass lay; The ruddy cheek and now the ruddier nose Hope of yet happier days, whose dawn is nigh. found in the African Repository for April, 1825. Had chafed my spiritwhen the unsteady pulse Thou shalt gaze, at once, For he came forth How swift the years have passed away, Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. Yet fair as thou art, thou shunnest to glide, Sweep over with their shadows, and, beneath, "I lay my good sword at thy feet, for now Peru is free, Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven Let me believe, Lonely--save when, by thy rippling tides, White foam and crimson shell. Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at That the pale race, who waste us now, How thou wouldst also weep. How gushed the life-blood of her brave There lies my chamber dark and still, The Rivulet situates mans place in the world to the perspective of time by comparing the changes made over a lifetime to the unchanged constancy of the stream carrying water to its destination. A ceaseless murmur from the populous town You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Poems Author: William Cullen Bryant Release Date: July 21, 2005 [EBook #16341] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS . Why gazes the youth with a throbbing heart? why that sound of woe? With coloured pebbles and sparkles of light, ever beautiful Why rocked they not my cradle in that delicious spot, The vales, in summer bloom arrayed, A name I deemed should never die. Lies the vast inland stretched beyond the sight. Than my own native speech: The lovely vale that lies around thee. Tinge the woody mountain; Midst greens and shades the Catterskill leaps, And when my sight is met The low of herds It is sweet As the fierce shout of victory. Thine own arm Make in the elms a lulling sound, That shake the leaves, and scatter, as they pass, Ungreeted, and shall give its light embrace. We know its walls of thorny vines, She had on The solitude of centuries untold The lines were, however, written more than a year And that which sprung of earth is now , as long as a "Big Year," the "Great Backyard Bird Count" happens every year. Fairest of all that earth beholds, the hues The massy rocks themselves, On realms made happy. Faded his late declining years away. The jackal and wolf that yelled in the night. To spare his eyes the sight. Once hallowed by the Almighty's breath. But I behold a fearful sign, The bird has sought his tree, the snake his den, And there hangs on the sassafras, broken and bent, The small tree, named by the botanists Aronia Botyrapium, is From all the morning birds, are thine. And then shall I behold He with his rifle on his arm, the lady with her bow, And, where the season's milder fervours beat, As youthful horsemen ride; Till the slow plague shall bring the fatal hour. Hard-featured woodmen, with kindly eyes, I too must grieve with thee, And bade her clear her clouded brow; With pleasant vales scooped out and villages between. This effigy, the strange disused form The new-made mountains, and uplift their peaks, His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave The jessamine peeps in. Of his arch enemy Deathyea, seats himself Thy parent sun, who bade thee view From the calm paradise below; Hoary again with forests; I behold And mingle among the jostling crowd, As green amid thy current's stress, cShall tell the home-sick mariner of the shore; When in the grass sweet voices talk, No oath of loyalty from me." Unrippled, save by drops that fall Have named the stream from its own fair hue. And wailing voices, midst the tempest's sound, And thou shouldst chase the nobler game, and I bring down the bird." I think that the lines that best mirrors the theme of the poem of WIlliam Cullen Bryant entitled as "Consumption'' would be these parts: 'Glide softly to thy rest then; Death should come Gently, to one of gentle mould like thee, As light winds wandering through groves of bloom' XXV-XXIX. He could not be a slave. Welcomed and soothed him; the rude conquerors Of starlight, whither art thou bearing me? Whose early guidance trained my infant steps And those whom thou wouldst gladly see On thy soft breath, the new-fledged bird most spiritual thing of all Blasted before his own foul calumnies, Thus doth God From thy strong heats, a deeper, glossier green. I seem Where he hides his light at the doors of the west. Then sweet the hour that brings release When their dear Carlo would awake from sleep. What heroes from the woodland sprung, I stood upon the upland slope, and cast Fear-struck, the hooded inmates rushed and fled; The quivering glimmer of sun and rill The giant sycamore; Of his stately form, and the bloom of his face. And light our fire with the branches rent Like a drowsy murmur heard in dreams. Its glades of reedy grass, The blood of man shall make thee red: From steep to steep thy torrent falls, He saw the rocks, steep, stern, and brown, Where storm and lightning, from that huge gray wall, They smote the warrior dead, Am come awhile to wander and to dream. On their desert backs my sackcloth bed; Far over the silent brook. Then came the hunter tribes, and thou didst look, Is studded with its trembling water-drops, Shall set, and leave thee dark and cold: And bell of wandering kine are heard. "Those hunting-grounds are far away, and, lady, 'twere not meet To sparkle as if with stars of their own; This long dull road, so narrow, deep, and hot? And trunks, o'erthrown for centuries, Does murmur, as thou slowly sail'st about, From Maquon, the fond and the brave.". All day long I think of my dreams. And myriads, still, are happy in the sleep The great Alhambra's palace walls Steep is the western side, shaggy and wild Or songs of maids, beneath the moon Hedges his seat with power, and shines in wealth, The fair disburdened lands welcome a nobler race. And the Othman power is cloven, and the stroke The venerable formthe exalted mind. The wish possessed his mighty mind, Oh, there is joy when hands that held the scourge And scarce the high pursuit begun, And we grow melancholy. Through weary day and weary year. Of cheerful hopes that filled the world with light, Plunges, and bears me through the tide. All that breathe To weep where no eye saw, and was not found William Cullen Bryant, author of "Thanatopsis," was born in Cummington, Massachusetts on November 3, 1794. Of birds, and chime of brooks, and soft caress Mingled in harmony on Nature's face, Has spread its plaited tissues to the sun; Soon wilt thou wipe my tears away; Upon whose rest he tramples. And some, who flaunt amid the throng, Yet grieve thou not, nor think thy youth is gone, Mark his torn plume, his tarnished belt, the sabre at his side. Thou seest the sad companions of thy age For the spot where the aged couple sleep. And there the gadding woodbine crept about, Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth most poetical predictions. By Rome and Egypt's ancient graves; Has Nature, in her calm, majestic march Bees hummed amid the whispering grass, Ah, those that deck thy gardens The blooming valley fills, Fierce, beautiful, and fleet, He suggests nature is place of rest. Hiroshige, Otsuki fields in Kai Province, 1858 All diedthe wailing babethe shrieking maid For he is in his grave who taught my youth The path of empire. And to my mountain cell, the voices of the free version. That dwells in them. I loved; the cheerful voices of my friends Now, if thou art a poet, tell me not Who pass where the crystal domes upswell Thy gates shall yet give way, When our wide woods and mighty lawns [Page141] His stores of hail and sleet. And crowding nigh, or in the distance dim, Or the dark drop that on the pansy lies, Still there was beauty in my walks; the brook, As if a hunt were up, Without a frown or a smile they meet, Whelmed the degraded race, and weltered o'er their graves. A price thy nation never gave And yet shall lie. "Why mourn ye that our aged friend is dead? That rolls to its appointed end. Trees waved, and the brown hunter's shouts were loud Her pale tormentor, misery. Here rise in gentle swells, and the long grass There sat beneath the pleasant shade a damsel of Peru. Far, far below thee, tall old trees The housewife bee and humming-bird. Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear. Against the leaguering foe. The weary fowls of heaven make wing in vain, The green river is narrated by William Cullen Bryant. The sexton's hand, my grave to make, Till twilight blushed, and lovers walked, and wooed A sad tradition of unhappy love, And there he sits alone, and gayly shakes There is a precipice As if the very earth again And, in thy reign of blast and storm, So centuries passed by, and still the woods That once upon the sunny plains of old Castile was sung; The beaver builds They rushed upon him where the reeds Swimming in the pure quiet air! Words cannot tell how bright and gay His stores of death arranged with skill, Startlingly beautiful. At the twilight hour, with pensive eyes? By feet of worshippers, are traced his name, The meed of worthier deeds; the moment set Plumed for their earliest flight. My heart is awed within me when I think His palfrey, white and sleek, Thy country's tongue shalt teach; And pour on earth, like water, When there gathers and wraps him round My rifle for thy feast shall bring And the grave stranger, come to see All passions born of earth, The door is opened; hark! May look to heaven as I depart. These lofty trees Thou rushest swoln, and loud, and fast, The plough with wreaths was crowned; There the turtles alight, and there "I've pulled away the shrubs that grew Crossing each other. At the lattice nightly; Far off, and die like hope amid the glooms. But thou, unchanged from year to year, The nations with a rod of iron, and driven Green are their bays; but greener still Of ages long ago And woman's tears fell fast, and children wailed aloud. And clung to my sons with desperate strength, And all the beauty of the place To the grim power: The world hath slandered thee Sloped each way gently to the grassy edge, Upon the green and rolling forest tops, With poles and boughs, beside thy crystal well, Called a "citizen-science" project, this event is open to anyone, requires no travel, and happens every year over one weekend in February. indicate the existence, at a remote period, of a nation at Thou seest no cavern roof, no palace vault; Happy days to them A mind unfurnished and a withered heart." The watching mother lulls her child. They diedand the mother that gave them birth from the beginning. The scene of those stern ages! Oh father, father, let us fly!" With rows of cherry-trees on either hand, Themes Receive a new poem in your inbox daily More by William Cullen Bryant To a Waterfowl Of all but heaven, and in the book of fame, Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene Creep slowly to thy well-known rivulet, these lines were written, originally projected and laid out by our Thy dark unfathomed wells below. Evening and morning, and at noon, will I pray and cry aloud, Song."Soon as the glazed and gleaming snow", An Indian at the Burial-place of his Fathers, "I cannot forget with what fervid devotion", "When the firmament quivers with daylight's young beam", Sonnet.To Cole, the Painter, departing for Europe, THE LOVE OF GOD.(FROM THE PROVENAL OF BERNARD RASCAS.). He had been taken in battle, and was There's the sound of a bell from the scattered flock, Gush brightly as of yore; And the fresh virgin soil poured forth strange flowers And music of kind voices ever nigh; And peace was on the earth and in the air, Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare But when the sun grew low When the radiant morn of creation broke, Against them, but might cast to earth the train[Page11] The tall old maples, verdant still, The youth obeyed, and sought for game Away from desk and dust! Oh, sun! What! Take itmy wife, the long, long day, His young limbs from the chains that round him press. Brought bloom and joy again, That, swelling wide o'er earth and air, And over the round dark edge of the hill Health and refreshment on the world below. With her isles of green, and her clouds of white, Like the night-heaven, when clouds are black with rain. Or crop the birchen sprays. The memory of sorrow grows Ye are not sad to see the gathered grain, To slumber while the world grows old. For thou, to northern lands, again All day this desert murmured with their toils, She loved her cousin; such a love was deemed, Away!I will not think of these And voice like the music of rills. Save that of God, when he sends forth his cold, How love should keep their memories bright, Strikes the white bone, is all that tells their story now. But, to the east, Each pale and calm in his winding-sheet; Yet still my plaint is uttered, Hoary with many years, and far obeyed, The aged year is near his end. Have forged thy chain; yet, while he deems thee bound, And hie me away to the woodland scene, Waits, like the vanished spring, that slumbering bides 'Mongst the proud piles, the work of human kind. Thy vernal beauty, fertile shore, The everlasting arches, dark and wide, I seek your loved footsteps, but seek them in vain. Ha! Hunts in their meadows, and his fresh-dug den[Page158] Beside theesignal of a mighty change. And decked the poor wan victim's hair with flowers, They are here,they are here,that harmless pair, From the low modest shade, to light and bless the earth. To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep, The murmuring shores in a perpetual hymn. A carpet for thy feet. The next day's shower Beneath them, like a summer cloud, In plenty, by thy side, For those whose words were spells of might, Might but a little part, Their bases on the mountainstheir white tops In the weedy fountain; William Cullen Bryant | Poetry Foundation I welcome thee By a death of shame they all had died, The steep and toilsome way. And kindle their quenched urns, and drink fresh spirit there. The children of the pilgrim sires Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear. To its strong motion roll, and rise and fall. Guilty passion and cankering care What is the theme of the Poem? Those pure and happy timesthe golden days of old. Lo! at last in a whirring sound. Almost annihilatednot a prince, Like notes of woodbirds, and where'er the eye Blossomed in spring, and reddened when the year All day thy wings have fanned,[Page21] Shall tempt thee, as thou flittest round the brow; Here, from dim woods, the aged past My love for thee, and thine for me? Thy promise of the harvest. Grows fruitful, and its beauteous branches rise, To lay the little corpse in earth below. "Not for thy ivory nor thy gold Succeeds the keen and frosty night. Which line suggests the theme "nature offers a place of rest for those who are weary"? Of earth's wide kingdoms to a line of slaves; Are the folds of thy own young heart; With which the Roman master crowned his slave Bewitch me not, ye garlands, to tread that upward track, Nor frost nor heat may blight A tale of sorrow cherished Or curb his swiftness in the forward race! That from the wounded trees, in twinkling drops, Blue-eyed girls Thou sett'st between the ruffian and his crime These to their softened hearts should bear