John Bartlett (1820–1905). Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. 1919.
Feliia Dorothea (Browne) Hemans 1793-1835 John Bartlett
| 1 | |
| The stately homes of England,— How beautiful they stand, Amid their tall ancestral trees, O’er all the pleasant land! | |
| The Homes of England. | |
| 2 | |
| The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed. | |
| Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers. | |
| 3 | |
| What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine, The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? They sought a faith’s pure shrine. | |
| Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers. | |
| 4 | |
| Ay, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod: They have left unstained what there they found,— Freedom to worship God. | |
| Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers. | |
| 5 | |
| Through the laburnum’s dropping gold Rose the light shaft of Orient mould, And Europe’s violets, faintly sweet, Purpled the mossbeds at its feet. | |
| The Palm-Tree. | |
| 6 | |
| They grew in beauty side by side, They filled one home with glee: Their graves are severed far and wide By mount and stream and sea. | |
| The Graves of a Household. | |
| 7 | |
| Alas for love, if thou wert all, And naught beyond, O Earth! | |
| The Graves of a Household. | |
| 8 | |
| The boy stood on the burning deck, Whence all but him had fled; The flame that lit the battle’s wreck Shone round him o’er the dead. | |
| Casabianca. | |
| 9 | |
| Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind’s breath, And stars to set; but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death! | |
| The Hour of Death. | |
| 10 | |
| Come to the sunset tree! The day is past and gone; The woodman’s axe lies free, And the reaper’s work is done. | |
| Tyrolese Evening Song. | |
| 11 | |
| In the busy haunts of men. | |
| Tale of the Secret Tribunal. Part i. | |
| 12 | |
| Calm on the bosom of thy God, Fair spirit, rest thee now! | |
| Siege of Valencia. Scene ix. | |
| 13 | |
| Oh, call my brother back to me! I cannot play alone: The summer comes with flower and bee,— Where is my brother gone? | |
| The Child’s First Grief. | |
| 14 | |
| I have looked on the hills of the stormy North, And the larch has hung his tassels forth. | |
| The Voice of Spring. | |
| 15 | |
| I had a hat. It was not all a hat,— Part of the brim was gone: Yet still I wore it on. | |
| Rhine Song of the German Soldiers after Victory. | |