The Museum of Foreign Literature, Science, and Art, Volumen 18

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Robert Walsh, John Jay Smith
E. Littell, 1831
 

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Página 200 - tis but the blood so free Comes back and tingles in her feet. No doubt, she hath a vision sweet. What if her guardian spirit 'twere, What if she knew her mother near? But this she knows, in joys and woes, That saints will aid if men will call: For the blue sky bends over all ! PART II Each matin bell, the Baron saith, Knells us back to a world of death.
Página 330 - Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulphurous canopy. The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave ! Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry.
Página 141 - I know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor hot : I would thou wert cold or hot. So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spew thee out of my mouth.
Página 184 - He actually shed tears. He asked whose the lines were, and it chanced that nobody but myself remembered that they occur in a half-forgotten poem of Langhorne's called by the unpromising title of 'The Justice of the Peace'.
Página 333 - Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing ! That, in the merry months o' spring, Delighted me to hear thee sing, What comes o...
Página 156 - Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew: Nor yet for the ravage of Winter I mourn ; Kind Nature the embryo blossom will save. But when shall Spring visit the mouldering urn? O, when shall it dawn on the night of the grave?
Página 9 - He that is down needs fear no fall; He that is low, no pride. He that is humble, ever shall Have God to be his guide. I am content with what I have, Little be it or much ; And, Lord, contentment still I crave, Because thou savest such. Fulness to such a burden is, That go on pilgrimage ; Here little, and hereafter bliss, Is best from age to age.
Página 155 - As when to them who sail Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past Mozambic, off at sea north-east winds blow Sabean odours from the spicy shore Of Araby the Blest ; with such delay Well pleased they slack their course, and many a league Cheer'd with the grateful smell old Ocean smiles...
Página 192 - There is eloquence in the tongueless wind, and a melody in the flowing brooks and the rustling of the reeds beside them, which by their inconceivable relation to something within the soul, awaken the spirits to a dance of breathless rapture, and bring tears of mysterious tenderness to the eyes, like the enthusiasm of patriotic success, or the voice of one beloved singing to you alone.
Página 222 - I did remind thee of our own dear Lake, By the old Hall which may be mine no more. Leman's is fair ; but think not I forsake The sweet remembrance of a dearer shore : Sad havoc Time must with my memory make Ere that or thou can fade these eyes before ; Though, like all things which I have loved, they are Resign'd for ever, or divided far.

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