The Southern literary messenger, 18. kötet

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253. oldal - There is one mind common to all individual men. Every man is an inlet to the same and to all of the same.
230. oldal - tis not in The harmony of things, — this hard decree, This uneradicable taint of sin, This boundless upas, this all-blasting tree, Whose root is earth, whose leaves and branches be The skies which rain their plagues on men like dew — Disease, death, bondage — all the woes we see, And worse, the woes we see not...
183. oldal - Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown ; It must, or we shall rue it: We have a vision of our own, Ah ! why should we undo it ? The treasured dreams of times long past, We'll keep them, winsome Marrow! For when we're there, although 'tis fair, 'Twill be another Yarrow!
182. oldal - That host with their banners at sunset were seen; Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown. For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd; And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still.
234. oldal - Dove-like, sat'st brooding on the vast abyss, And mad'st it pregnant: what in me is dark, Illumine ; what is low, raise and support...
179. oldal - The battle's lost, the soldier's slain ; That from the distant sea or land Thou bring'st the wanderer home again. And when upon her pillow lone Her tear-wet cheek is sadly pressed, May happier visions beam upon The brightening current of her breast, No frowning look or angry tone Disturb the Sabbath of her rest!
74. oldal - With dim mortality. It is not air That from a thousand lungs reeks back to thine, Sated with exhalations rank and fell, The spoil of dunghills, and the putrid thaw Of nature...
287. oldal - Prayer for the Queen's Majesty. OLord' our heavenly Father, high and mighty, King of kings, Lord of lords, the only Ruler of princes, who dost from thy throne behold all the dwellers upon earth...
183. oldal - Let Beeves and home-bred Kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow ; The Swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float Double, Swan and Shadow...
179. oldal - THE tattoo beats — the lights are gone, The camp around in slumber lies, The night with solemn pace moves on, The shadows thicken o'er the skies; But sleep my weary eyes hath flown, And sad, uneasy thoughts arise. I think of thee...

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