This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1869 edition. Excerpt: ... THE SPIRIT HAND. Within my quiet study I'm sitting all alone, But through my open window There comes a welcome one. 0 welcome, Wind of Summer, To play around my brow, Thou bring'st me back my lost, that loved More tenderly than thou! Another hand as viewless Now softly lifts my hair, And when my book-leaves ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1869 edition. Excerpt: ... THE SPIRIT HAND. Within my quiet study I'm sitting all alone, But through my open window There comes a welcome one. 0 welcome, Wind of Summer, To play around my brow, Thou bring'st me back my lost, that loved More tenderly than thou! Another hand as viewless Now softly lifts my hair, And when my book-leaves rustle A spirit hand is there! 'But thou art come to tell me Glad summer waits for me By forest, lake, and fountain, And by the tameless sea. Thou hast wantoned with the sea-spray Beneath the rising moon, And crisped the lake's blue waters By the prow of the gliding loon. Thou hast filled the dark pine-forest, And with the torrent played, And loitered with the dimpling brook Under the alder shade. There's strength upon the mountain, There's music in the glen, --By forest, field, and fountain I'll rove with thee again. THE SPJIIIT HAND. 4! I'll meet thee on the tall cliff, And on the violet lea--I'll trace with thee the meadow brook, And the beach of the bounding sea! Yet where the boughs are waving, And floats the golden grain, I know my cheek can never feel Earth's common wind again! 'Twill be thy hand no longer! A spirit will fan my brow--My darling lost one's spirit.hand That is turning my book-leaves now! 1849. THE INDIAN ARROW-HEAD. On the white lake-shore Lies the flinty arrow-head--But the Indian is no more Whose bow the arrow sped, By the white lake-shore. And the arrow's ashen shaft, With the feather, it to waft, Time has wasted, leaving lone But this flinty, pointed stone, On the white lake-shore. THE JUD1AN ARROW-HEAD. 43 So the warriors of the soul, Passing onward to their goal, Wing the arrow-points of Truth Piercing Error without ruth, --That shall perish never more! And the wanderers of Time, Oft these relics see sublime, On the...
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