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John Bartlett (1820–1905). Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. 1919.

William Cullen Bryant 1794-1878 John Bartlett

    Here the free spirit of mankind, at length,
Throws its last fetters off; and who shall place
A limit to the giant’s unchained strength,
Or curb his swiftness in the forward race?
          The Ages. xxxiii.
    To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language.
    Go forth under the open sky, and list
To Nature’s teachings.
    The hills,
Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun.
    Old ocean’s gray and melancholy waste.
    All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.
    So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves 1
To that mysterious realm where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one that wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
    The groves were God’s first temples.
          A Forest Hymn.
    The stormy March has come at last,
  With winds and clouds and changing skies;
I hear the rushing of the blast
  That through the snowy valley flies.
      But ’neath yon crimson tree
Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame,
Nor mark, within its roseate canopy,
  Her blush of maiden shame.
          Autumn Woods.
    The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.
          The Death of the Flowers.
    And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.
          The Death of the Flowers.
    Loveliest of lovely things are they
On earth that soonest pass away.
The rose that lives its little hour
Is prized beyond the sculptured flower.
          A Scene on the Banks of the Hudson.
    The victory of endurance born.
          The Battle-Field.
    Truth crushed to earth shall rise again,—
  The eternal years of God are hers;
But Error, wounded, writhes with pain,
  And dies among his worshippers.
          The Battle-Field.
Note 1.
The edition of 1821 read,—
The innumerable caravan that moves
To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take. [back]