The Southern literary messenger, Том 131847 |
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Сторінка 298 - A made a finer end, and went away an it had been any christom child. A parted even just between twelve and one, even at the turning o' the tide. For after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile upon his fingers...
Сторінка 415 - BY THE rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion. We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof. For there they that carried us away captive required of us a song; and they that wasted us required of us mirth, saying, Sing us one of the songs of Zion.
Сторінка 161 - I care not, fortune, what you me deny : You cannot rob me of free nature's grace ; You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shows her brightening face ; You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, And I their toys to the great children leave : Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave.
Сторінка 160 - But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, And roam along, the world's tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless; Minions of splendour shrinking from distress!
Сторінка 64 - Seest thou a man diligent in his business? he shall stand before kings ; he shall not stand before mean men...
Сторінка 407 - Now go and smite Amalek, and utterly destroy all that they have, and spare them not; but slay both man and woman, infant and suckling, ox and sheep, camel and ass.
Сторінка 202 - I that was wont to behold her riding like Alexander, hunting like Diana, walking like Venus, the gentle wind blowing her fair hair about her pure cheeks, like a nymph; sometime sitting in the shade like a Goddess; sometime singing like an angel; sometime playing like Orpheus. Behold the sorrow of this world! Once amiss, hath bereaved me of all.
Сторінка 64 - There's freedom at thy gates and rest For Earth's down-trodden and opprest, A shelter for the hunted head, For the starved laborer toil and bread. Power, at thy bounds, Stops and calls back his baffled hounds.
Сторінка 161 - And through their lucid veil his softened force Shed o'er the peaceful world. Then is the time For those whom wisdom and whom nature charm To steal themselves from the degenerate crowd, And soar above this little scene of things ; To tread low-thoughted vice beneath their feet, To soothe the throbbing passions into peace, And woo lone quiet in her silent walks.
Сторінка 64 - Ay, let them rail, those haughty ones. While safe thou dwellest with thy sons, They do not know how loved thou art, How many a fond and fearless heart Would rise to throw Its life between thee and the foe.