Scènes américaines: dix-huit mois dans le Nouveau monde

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Amyot, 1853 - Всего страниц: 344
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Стр. 127 - Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds — His path was rugged and sore, Through tangled juniper beds of reeds, Through many a fen, where the serpent feeds, And man never trod before.
Стр. 298 - The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave ! — For the deck it was their field of fame, And Ocean was their grave : Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep, While the stormy tempests blow ; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.
Стр. 125 - They made her a grave, too cold and damp For a soul so warm and true; And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp, Where, all night long, by a firefly lamp, She paddles her white canoe.
Стр. 306 - On you the blast, surcharged with rain and snow, In winter's dismal nights no more shall beat ; Unfelt by you the vertic sun may glow, And scorch the panting earth with baneful heat. No more the joyful maid, with sprightly strain, Shall wake the...
Стр. 128 - And man never trod before! And when on the earth he sunk to sleep, If slumber his eye-lids knew, He lay where the deadly vine doth weep Its venomous tear and nightly steep The flesh with blistering dew ! And near him the she-wolf...
Стр. viii - Fuyez de ces auteurs l'abondance stérile ; Et ne vous chargez point d'un détail inutile. Tout ce qu'on dit de trop est fade et rebutant ; L'esprit rassasié le rejette à l'instant. Qui ne sait se borner ne sut jamais écrire.
Стр. 306 - What though no funeral pomp, no borrow'd tear, Your hour of death to gazing crowds shall tell; Nor weeping friends attend your sable bier, Who sadly listen to the...
Стр. 117 - As monumental bronze unchanged his look : A soul that pity touch'd, but never shook : Train'd from his tree-rock'd cradle to his bier, The fierce extremes of good and ill to brook Impassive — fearing but the shame of fear — A stoic of the woods — a man without a tear.
Стр. 306 - THE scene of death is closed ! the mournful strains Dissolve in dying languor on the ear ; Yet pity weeps, yet sympathy complains, And dumb suspense awaits o'erwhelm'd with fear : But the sad muses with prophetic eye At once the future and the past explore ; Their harps oblivion's influence can defy, And waft the spirit to the...
Стр. 308 - Mais pourquoi m'entraîner vers ces scènes passées ? Laissons le vent gémir et le flot murmurer ; Revenez, revenez, ô mes tristes pensées...

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