Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Том 112;Том 125Harper's Magazine Company, 1912 Important American periodical dating back to 1850. |
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Сторінка 310 - If the red slayer think he slays, Or if the slain think he is slain, They know not well the subtle ways I keep, and pass, and turn again. Far or forgot to me is near; Shadow and sunlight are the same; The vanished gods to me appear; And one to me are shame and fame.
Сторінка 28 - It is impossible, by means of inanimate material agency, to derive mechanical effect from any portion of matter by cooling it below the temperature of the coldest of the surrounding objects.
Сторінка 310 - Enthralls the crimson stomacher, A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribbands to flow confusedly, A winning wave (deserving note) In the tempestuous petticoat, A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility, Do more bewitch me, than when art Is too precise in every part.
Сторінка 410 - Among the three or four million cradles now rocking in the land are some which this nation would preserve for ages as sacred things, if we could know which ones they are.
Сторінка 704 - A FAREWELL With all my will, but much against my heart, We two now part. My Very Dear, Our solace is, the sad road lies so clear. It needs no art, With faint, averted feet And many a tear, In our opposed paths to persevere. Go thou to East, I West. We will not say There's any hope, it is so far away. But, O, my Best, When the one darling of our widowhead, The nursling Grief, Is dead, And no dews blur our eyes To see the peach-bloom...
Сторінка 455 - I never thought before my death to see Youth's vision thus made perfect. Emily, I love thee; though the world by no thin name Will hide that love from its unvalued shame. Would we two had been twins of the same mother!
Сторінка 1 - because it was a country so truly desolate (he said), that if one had a mind to hang one's self for desperation at being obliged to live there, it would be difficult to find a tree on which to fasten the rope.
Сторінка 311 - How sleep the brave who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blest! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung, By forms unseen their dirge is sung; There Honour comes, a pilgrim grey, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there!
Сторінка 310 - Enthrals the crimson stomacher ; A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribbons to flow confusedly ; A winning wave, deserving note, In the tempestuous petticoat ; A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility ; — Do more bewitch me, than when art Is too precise in every part.
Сторінка 290 - Obadiah, Go through the land, unto all the fountains of water, and unto all the brooks: peradventure we may find grass and save the horses and mules alive, that we lose not all the beasts.