Alton Locke, Tailor and Poet: An Autobiography

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United States Book Company, 1857 - 369 pages

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Page 227 - land And never home came she. III. "Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair — A tress o' golden hair, O' drowned maiden's hair, Above the nets at sea? Was never salmon yet that shone so fair, Among the stakes on Dee." IV. They rowed her in across the rolling foam, The cruel crawling foam, The cruel hungry
Page 334 - on the spirit lies Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And through the moss the ivies creep, And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, And from the craggy
Page 333 - There is no joy but calm!* Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things?" She paused — My soul was an enchanted boat Which, like a sleeping swan, did float Upon the silver waves of her sweet singing. Half unconscious, I looked up. Before me hung a copy of
Page 306 - words are strong; Chanted by an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil, Sow the seed and reap the harvest with enduring toil, Storing little yearly dues of wheat, and wine, and oil; Till they perish, and they suffer— some, 'tis whispered , down in hell Suffer endless anguish!
Page 306 - of mankind. For they lie beside their nectar, and their bolts are hurled Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curled Round their golden houses , girdled with the gleaming world. There they smile in secret, looking over wasted lands, Blight and famine, plague and earthquake, roaring deeps and fiery sands, Clanging lights, and flaming towns , and sinking ships, and praying hands.
Page 226 - And call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, Across the sands o' Dee;" The western wind was wild and dank wl' foam, And all alone went she.
Page 279 - The lightning of the nations; Liberty From heart to heart, from tower to tower, o'er France, Scattering contagious fire into the sky, Gleamed. My soul spurned the chains of its dismay; And in the rapid plumes of song Clothed itself sublime and
Page 227 - To her grave beside the sea: But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home, Across the sands o' Dee. There — let it go ! — it was meant as
Page 151 - My brain is wild, my breath comes quick, The blood is listening in my frame; And thronging shadows, fast and thick, Fall on my overflowing eyes. My heart is quivering like a flame; As morning-dew that in the sunbeam dies, I am dissolved in these consuming ecstasies. ***** The dark lady, Miss Staunton, as I ought to call her, saw
Page 151 - could only vent itself in tears, which welled unconsciously forth, and eased my heart from the painful tension of excitement. ***** Her voice is hovering o'er my soul — it lingers, O'ershadowing it with soft and thrilling wings.; The blood and life within those snowy fingers Teach witchcraft to the

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