122 Quotes by William Cullen Bryant

Chained in the market-place he stood,A man of giant frame,Amid the gathering multitudeThat shrunk to hear his name.

Childhood, with all its mirth,Youth, Manhood, Age that draws us to the ground,And last, Man's Life on earth,Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound.

Gaze on them, till the tears shall dim thy sight,But keep that earlier, wilder image bright.

How fast the flitting figures come!The mild, the fierce, the stony face;Some bright with thoughtless smiles, and someWhere secret tears have left their trace.

How shall I know thee in the sphere which keepsThe disembodied spirits of the dead,When all of thee that time could wither sleepsAnd perishes among the dust we tread?

The horrid tale of perjury and strife,Murder and spoil, which men call history.

The hills,Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun, -- the valesStretching in pensive quietness between;The venerable woods -- rivers that moveIn majesty, and the complaining brooksThat make the meadows green; and, poured round all,Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste, --Are but the solemn decorations allOf the great tomb of man.

The hills, Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun, -- the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woods -- rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste, -- Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man.

Ah! never shall the land forgetHow gushed the life-blood of her brave --Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet,Upon the soil they fought to save.