. Perfect pearls of poetry and prose; the most unique, touching, inspiring and beautiful literary . THE BRIDGE. 51 buckwheat, and Indian corn, and the orchards burdened with ruddy fruit,which surrounded the warm tenement of Van Tiissel, his heart yearnedafter the damsel, who was to inherit those domains, and his imaginationexpanded with the idea, how they might be readily turned into cash, andthe money invested in immense tracts of wild land, and shingle palaces inthe wilderness. Nay, his busy fancy already realized his hopes, and pre-sented to him the blooming Katrina, with a whol
. Perfect pearls of poetry and prose; the most unique, touching, inspiring and beautiful literary . THE BRIDGE. 51 buckwheat, and Indian corn, and the orchards burdened with ruddy fruit,which surrounded the warm tenement of Van Tiissel, his heart yearnedafter the damsel, who was to inherit those domains, and his imaginationexpanded with the idea, how they might be readily turned into cash, andthe money invested in immense tracts of wild land, and shingle palaces inthe wilderness. Nay, his busy fancy already realized his hopes, and pre-sented to him the blooming Katrina, with a whole family of children,mounted on the top of a wagon loaded with household trumpery, with potsand kettles dangling beneath; and he beheld himself bestriding a pacingmare, with a colt at her heels, setting out for Kentucky, Tennessee, or theLord knows TRE BRIDGE. HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. STOOD on the bridge at midnight,As the clocks were striking thehour,Viid the moon rose oer the city,Behind the dark cliurch tower; And like the waters rushingAmong the wooden piers, A flood of thought came oer filled my eyes with tears. How often, 0 how often, In the days that had gone by, I had stood on that bridge at midnight,And gazed on that wave and sky! How often, O how often, I bad wished that the ebbing tideWould bear ine away on its bosom Oer the ocean wiM and wide! For my heart was hot and resiles*,And my life was full of care,4 And the burden laid upon greater than I could bear. But now it has fallen from me, It is buried in the sea;And only the sorrow of others Throws its shadow over me. Yet whenever I cross the riverOn its bridge with wooden piers, Like the odor of brine from the oceanComes the thought of other yeari. And I think how many thousandi Of care-encumbered laving his burden of sorrow. Have cross
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Keywords: ., bo, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, booksubjectenglishliterature
