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Thine eyes are springs in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen. Their lashes are the herbs that look On their young figures in the brook.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
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So they, who climb to wealth, forget The friends in darker fortunes tried. I copied them--but I regret That I should ape the ways of pride.
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To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.
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A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.
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Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson.
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The hushed winds their Sabbath keep.
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Do not the bright June roses blow To meet thy kiss at morning hours?
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Eloquence is the poetry of prose.
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And kind the voice and glad the eyes That welcome my return at night.
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On rolls the stream with a perpetual sigh The rocks moan wildly as it passes by Hyssop and wormwood border all the strand, And not a flower adorns the dreary land.
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Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.
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Genius, with all its pride in its own strength, is but a dependent quality, and cannot put forth its whole powers nor claim all its honors without an amount of aid from the talents and labors of others which it is difficult to calculate.
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Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again.
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Error's monstrous shapes from earth are driven They fade, they fly--but truth survives the flight.
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The air was fragrant with a thousand trodden aromatic herbs, with fields of lavender, and with the brightest roses blushing in tufts all over the meadows.
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Sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
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The press, important as is its office, is but the servant of the human intellect, and its ministry is for good or for evil, according to the character of those who direct it. The press is a mill which grinds all that is put into its hopper. Fill the hopper with poisoned grain, and it will grind it to meal, but there is death in the bread.
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And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief.
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