FREE BOOKS

Author's List




PREV.   NEXT  
|<   79   80   81   82   83   84   85   86   87   88   89   90   91   92   93   94   95   96   97   98   99   100   101   102   103  
104   105   106   107   108   109   110   111   112   113   114   115   116   117   118   119   120   121   122   123   124   125   126   127   128   >>   >|  
Phoebe! it calls and calls again, And Ovid, could he but have heard, Had hung a legendary pain About the memory of the bird; A pain articulate so long In penance of some mouldered crime, Whose ghost still flies the furies' thong Down the waste solitudes of time; * * * * * Phoebe! is all it has to say In plaintive cadence o'er and o'er, Like children that have lost their way And know their names, but nothing more. Is it in type, since Nature's lyre Vibrates to every note in man, Of that insatiable desire Meant to be so, since life began? I, in strange lands at gray of dawn, Wakeful, have heard that fruitless plaint Through memory's chambers deep withdrawn Renew its iterations faint. So nigh! yet from remotest years It seems to draw its magic, rife With longings unappeased, and tears Drawn from the very source of life. JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL: in _Scribner_. * * * * * TO THE STORK. Welcome, O Stork! that dost wing Thy flight from the far-away! Thou hast brought us the signs of Spring, Thou hast made our sad hearts gay. Descend, O Stork! descend Upon our roof to rest; In our ash-tree, O my friend, My darling, make thy nest. To thee, O Stork, I complain, O Stork, to thee I impart The thousand sorrows, the pain And aching of my heart. When thou away didst go, Away from this tree of ours, The withering winds did blow, And dried up all the flowers. Dark grew the brilliant sky, Cloudy and dark and drear; They were breaking the snow on high, And winter was drawing near. From Varaca's rocky wall, From the rock of Varaca unrolled, The snow came and covered all, And the green meadow was cold. O Stork, our garden with snow Was hidden away and lost, And the rose-trees that in it grow Were withered by snow and frost. H. W. LONGFELLOW. * * * * * THE STORKS OF DELFT. The tradition of the storks at Delft (Holland), is, however, still alive, and no traveller writes about the city without remembering them. The fact occurred at the time of the great fire which ruined almost all the city. There were in Delft innumerable storks' nests. It must be un
PREV.   NEXT  
|<   79   80   81   82   83   84   85   86   87   88   89   90   91   92   93   94   95   96   97   98   99   100   101   102   103  
104   105   106   107   108   109   110   111   112   113   114   115   116   117   118   119   120   121   122   123   124   125   126   127   128   >>   >|  



Top keywords:

storks

 

Phoebe

 

Varaca

 

memory

 
flowers
 

brilliant

 

darling

 

breaking

 

friend

 

Cloudy


aching

 

impart

 

thousand

 
sorrows
 
complain
 
withering
 

unrolled

 

writes

 

traveller

 

remembering


tradition

 

Holland

 

innumerable

 
ruined
 

occurred

 

STORKS

 
LONGFELLOW
 
covered
 

meadow

 
drawing

garden
 

withered

 
hidden
 

winter

 
Nature
 

Vibrates

 

strange

 
legendary
 

insatiable

 

desire


children

 
penance
 

mouldered

 

articulate

 
plaintive
 

cadence

 

solitudes

 

furies

 
Wakeful
 

Welcome