Jottings of a Year's Sojourn in the South: Or, First Impressions of the Country and Its People; with a Glimpse at School-teaching in that Southern Land, and Reminiscences of Distinguished Men

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Review and Herald Print, 1859 - 310 páginas
 

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Página 294 - The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose; The Moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare; Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
Página 173 - As bees In spring time, when the sun with Taurus rides, Pour forth their populous youth about the hive In clusters : they among fresh dews and flowers Fly to and fro, or on the smoothed plank, The suburb of their straw-built citadel, New rubb'd with balm, expatiate, and confer Their state affairs : so thick the aery crowd Swarm'd and were straiten'd; till, the signal given, Behold a wonder!
Página 269 - I HAVE observed, that a reader seldom peruses a book with pleasure, till he knows whether the writer of it be a black or a fair man, of a mild or choleric disposition, married or a bachelor, with other particulars of the like nature, that conduce very much to the right understanding of an author.
Página 275 - For talents mourn, untimely lost, When best employed, and wanted most ; Mourn genius high, and lore profound, And wit that loved to play, not wound ; And all the reasoning powers divine, To penetrate, resolve, combine ; And feelings keen, and fancy's glow, — They sleep with him who sleeps below...
Página 132 - The bridegroom may forget the bride Was made his wedded wife yestreen ; The monarch may forget the crown ' That on his head an hour has been ; The mother may forget the child That smiles sae sweetly on her knee ; But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, And a' that thou hast done for me ! " LINES, SENT TO SIR JOHN WHITEFORD, OF WHITEFORD, BART.
Página 55 - His head was small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weathercock perched upon his spindle neck, to tell which way the wind blew.
Página 16 - And terror on my aching sight; the tombs And monumental caves of death look cold, And shoot a dullness to my trembling heart. Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice; Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear Thy voice — my own affrights me with its echoes.
Página 55 - It was most ingeniously secured at vacant hours, by a withe twisted in the handle of the door, and stakes set against the window shutters, so that, though a thief might get in with perfect ease, he would find some embarrassment in getting out; an idea most probably borrowed by the architect, Yost Van Houten, from the mystery of an eel-pot.
Página 179 - WE knew it would rain, for all the morn A spirit on slender ropes of mist Was lowering its golden buckets down Into the vapory amethyst Of marshes and swamps and dismal fens — Scooping the dew that lay in the flowers, Dipping the jewels out of the sea, To sprinkle them over the land in showers.
Página 16 - By its own weight made steadfast and immovable. Looking tranquillity! It strikes an awe And terror on my aching sight; the tombs And monumental caves of death look cold. And shoot a dullness to my trembling heart.

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