American Literary Magazine, Volúmenes 1-3

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J. G. Wells, 1847
 

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Índice

EPIGRAM By C M N
163
TO JESSY By C M N
169
ON THE DEATH OF MRS HENRY L ELLSWORTH By MRs L
180
THE DEXTERIAN SYSTEM OF ASTRONOMY By C M N
187
OLIVER ELLSWORTH
195
SUNSET IN THE FOREST By LILY GRAHAM
202
CLASSIC VAGARIES No 4
204
MUSIC OF THE PINES By ABRAHAM MEssler D D
207
WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR AND HENRY THE SECOND
208
ANGELS OF THE PAST By ElizaBETH G BARBER
225
ROTTERDAM By LA
226
THE BRIDAL WREATH By H S McCALL
234
FRESH GLEANINGS
235
GLEANINGS FROM MY JOURNAL By BLUE JoHN
241
A STRAY LEAF FROM THE PAPERS OF A SOLITARY MAN By E G B
247
LEGENDS OF 1689 By Miss A A GoDDARD
252
LITERARY NOTICES
253
EDITORS TABLE
255
CHIEF JUSTICE SPENCER
265
COLLEGE EDIFICES AND THEIR RELATION TO EDUCATION
269
THE JEWS 3 18
318
GOSSIPING LETTER BY CLAVERACK Fils
328
ELI WHITNEY
335
CHRISTMAS HYMN By EMMAWILLARD
377
LITERARY NOTICES
387
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF NOAH weášTER LL D BY CHAUNcEY
5
GEN ISRAEL PUTNAM 71
71
THE LOST By A MEssler D D 80
80
CLASSIC VAGARIES 82
82
CONTENTMENT 88
88
RUTH By Elizabeth G BARBER 89
89
THE SIEGE OF LOUISBURG IN 1745 By ERAsmus D North 91
91
ON THE DEATH OF MR D P PAGE By MRs L H Sigour NET 106
106
SONG 111
111
The TREE OF LIBERTY By G F YATEs 112
112
A SERENADE By LA 116
116
THE GREEN LANES OF ENGLAND By HENRY Oake PARDry 121
121
A VISIT TO MADAM TAUSAUDS EXHIBITION 124
124
DESULTORY THOUGHTS 127
127
THE BELL OF FREEDOM By GILEs F Yarks 129
129
LITERARY NOTICES 130
130
GOSSIPING LETTER 132
132
JOHN QUINCY ADAMS 137
137
WHY DOST THOU LINGER SPRING? By LILY GRAHAM 149
149

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Página 277 - And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
Página 176 - For we were nursed upon the self-same hill, Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill.
Página 173 - The breath whose might I have invoked in song Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven, Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng Whose sails were never to the tempest given; The massy earth and sphered skies are riven! I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar; Whilst burning through the inmost veil of Heaven, The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.
Página 63 - There is a history in all men's lives, Figuring the nature of the times deceased ; The which observed, a man may prophesy, With a near aim, of the main chance of things As yet not come to life, which in their seeds And weak beginnings lie intreasured.
Página 172 - Like dew upon a sleeping flower, there lies A tear some Dream has loosened from his brain." Lost Angel of a ruined Paradise ! She knew not 'twas her own; as with no stain She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain.
Página 170 - He has outsoared the shadow of our night; Envy and calumny and hate and pain, And that unrest which men miscall delight, Can touch him not and torture not again; From the contagion of the world's slow stain He is secure, and now can never mourn A heart grown cold, a head grown gray in vain; Nor, when the spirit's self has ceased to burn, With sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn.
Página 409 - It is the hour when lovers' vows Seem sweet in every whisper'd word : And gentle winds, and waters near, Make music to the lonely ear. Bach flower the dews have lightly wet. And in the sky the stars are met, And on the wave is deeper blue, And on the leaf a browner hue, « And in the heaven that clear obscure, So softly dark, and darkly pure, Which follows...
Página 309 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn Or busy housewife ply her evening care, No children run to lisp their sire's return Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Página 172 - Oh weep for Adonais ! — The quick Dreams, The passion-winged ministers of thought, Who were his flocks, whom near the living streams Of his young spirit he fed, and whom he taught The love which was its music...
Página 371 - ... I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow. I remember...

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