File:The token - a Christmas and New Year's present (1830) (14592271160).jpg

Identifier: tokenchristmasne00good (find matches)
Title: The token : a Christmas and New Year's present
Year: 1830 (1830s)
Authors: Goodrich, Samuel G. (Samuel Griswold), 1793-1860
Subjects: Gift books
Publisher: Boston : Carter and Hendee
Contributing Library: The Centre for 19th Century French Studies - University of Toronto
Digitizing Sponsor: University of Toronto

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helmsman cheered. Bright eyes were there.And crimsoned cheeks, and palpitations quick,With deep, warm thoughts of home and happiness. I looked again. The boiling surges round.Told where that vessel sunk with all aboard!A hidden rock she struck, and instantlyWas in the sullen bosom of the flood.Yet still the moon smiled out upon the sea,The wavelets danced upon the pebbly shore,The chequered forest nodded to the breeze.The billows swelled and sank, exulting stillIn the loved moon; but in that gallant shipBright beaming eyes were quenched in the dark wave.And moistened cheeks were cold, and the full gushWhich palpitating told that home was nigh.Was stilled beneath the wide, devouring sea. Methought that sea was like the friendships fairOf this vain world ; a surface calm and clear.With beaming sky and smiling moon, and waveAs quiet as an infants sleep; but coldAnd dark, with treacherous rocks beneath.And he who trusts will wake from gilded dreamsOf love, far in the gloomy oceans depths.
Text Appearing After Image:
En?:VAm<u™na B3rE:iJE i©Ti?m-S GREEK LOVERS Fly, Greek! for the gloomy battle-cloud Hangs darkling in thy rear;The shout of the turbaned foe is loud. And his flashing steel is near. Thy ready sword, and thy gallant hand.Gainst a host would strike in vain; Then hasten thou to some refuge-land,Across yon murmuring main. Thy home is lost—thy friends are dead — Beneath yon murky pall,That casts its shadows wide and dread, They sleep in their ghastly thrall. hey will not wake though the clarion rings- Alas! how cold the GreekWho sleeps while his bleeding country flings Her call from each bannered peak! Hoof-torn, and sabre-scarred, they rest.Fathers, and sons, and brothers— 328 THE TOKEN. Lover, and loved, still breast to breast—And clinging babes and mothers. The crescent waves oer the trampled cross.The Turks on the Christians tread; Oh! stay not, Greek, to count thy loss—A price is on thy head! Thy path is oer the deep—away! The moonbeams light the tide;Launch thy swif

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