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Página 105 - And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy I wantoned with thy breakers — they to me Were a delight : and if the freshening sea Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear, For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here.
Página 120 - Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore; — upon the waterv plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own. When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown.
Página 64 - 'arth's orbit has an inclination towards changes,' you say." "The changes in the seasons, sir, are owing to 'the inclination of the earth's axis to the plane of its orbit.
Página 102 - To prayer; — for the glorious sun is gone, And the gathering darkness of night comes on ; Like a curtain from God's kind hand it flows To shade the couch where his children repose. Then kneel, while the watching stars are bright, And give your last thoughts to the Guardian of night.
Página 101 - And if it seem evil unto you to serve the LORD, choose you this day whom ye will serve ; whether the gods which your fathers* served that were on the other side of the flood, t or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land ye dwell : but as for me and my house, we will serve the LORD.
Página 120 - Roll on, thou deep and dark, blue Ocean, roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Lord Byron. Man marks the earth with ruin; his control Stops with the shore : upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy...
Página 211 - In the name of God, amen. I, Ichabod Pratt, of the town of Southold, and county of Suffolk, and State of New York, being of failing bodily health, but of sound mind, do make and declare this to be my last will and testament.
Página 31 - Now far he sweeps, where scarce a summer smiles, On Behring's rocks, or Greenland's naked isles : Cold on his midnight watch the breezes blow, From wastes that slumber in eternal snow ; And waft, across the waves' tumultuous roar, The wolf's long howl from Oonalaska's shore.
Página 204 - Ye dart upon the deep, and straight is heard A wilder roar, and men grow pale, and pray ; Ye fling its floods around you, as a bird Flings o'er his shivering plumes the fountain's spray. See ! to the breaking mast the sailor clings ; Ye scoop the ocean to its briny springs, And take the mountain billow on your wings, And pile the wreck of navies round the bay.