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Updated: June 4, 2025
There thy bright eye the dubious pilot guides, The faint oar struggling with the scalding tides On as thou lead'st the bold, the glorious prow, Mild, and more mild, the sloping sunbeams glow; Now weak and pale the lessen'd lustres play, As round th' horizon rolls the timid day; Barb'd with the sleeted snow, the driving hail, Rush the fierce arrows of the polar gale; And through the dim, unvaried, ling'ring hours, Wide o'er the waves incumbent horror lours."
Now dragg'd once more beyond the western main, To groan beneath some dastard planter's chain; Where my poor countrymen in bondage wait The long enfranchisement of ling'ring fate: Hard ling'ring fate! while, ere the dawn of day, Rous'd by the lash they go their cheerless way; And as their souls with shame and anguish burn, Salute with groans unwelcome morn's return, And, chiding ev'ry hour the slow-pac'd sun, Pursue their toils till all his race is run.
It is the burial rite; How deep its sadness sinks into the soul, As slow the passing bell wakes its far ling'ring knoll. Spain has often been regarded as an absolute monarchy; an opinion, no doubt, founded on the absolute measures of her later sovereigns.
"Cast many a longing, ling'ring look behind." September 5th. The glow and splendour of the rising sun, for once in my life, drew little of my attention. I was too deeply plunged in my reveries, to notice the landscape which lay before me; and the walls of Padua presented themselves some time ere I was aware.
They finished "Gentle Maid" and then, with the same lad leading them, swung into a song that made Dick start and that for a moment made other mountains and another valley stand out before him, sharp and clear. "Soft o'er the fountain, ling'ring falls the Southern moon Far o'er the mountain, breaks the day too soon.
"Chance," said an old Vermont farmer, "is like going into a field with a pail, and waiting for a cow to come to you and back up to be milked." "Shun delays, they breed remorse; Take thy time while time is lent thee; Creeping snails have weakest force, Fly their fault, lest thou repent thee; Good is best when sooner wrought, Ling'ring labors come to nought.
Oh hapless we, whom such ill fate betides, Hurt by the beam which cheers the world besides! Who love the ling'ring frost, nice, chilling showers, While Nature's Benefit is death to ours; Who, witch-like, best in noxious mists perform, Thrive in the tempest, and enjoy the storm.
12 We care, at present, not a jot Which way our gains may turn us; Eternal life, howe'er so great, We think can not concern us. 13 But when thou'rt hedged on every side And Death himself is nearest, For one brief, ling'ring space we'll give Whate'er to us is dearest.
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