Tales of Glauber-Spa: Leggett, W. The block-house. Sands, R.C. Mr. Green. Paulding, J.K. Selim. Sands, R.C. Boyuca

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J. & J. Harper, 1832
 

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Seite 24 - This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever Ran on the green-sward : nothing she does or seems But smacks of something greater than herself, Too noble for this place.
Seite 56 - And thence delight, disgust, or cool indiffrence rise: When minds are joyful, then we look around, And what is seen is all on fairy ground; Again they sicken, and on every view Cast their own dull and melancholy hue; Or, if absorb'd by their peculiar cares, The vacant eye on viewless matter glares, Our feelings still upon our views attend, And their own natures to the objects lend; Sorrow and joy are in their influence sure, Long as the passion reigns th' effects endure; But love in minds his various...
Seite 151 - Above me are the Alps, The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps, And throned Eternity in icy halls Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls The avalanche — the thunderbolt of snow ! All that expands the spirit, yet appals, Gather around these summits, as to show How Earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave vain man below.
Seite 109 - Falsely luxurious, will not man awake; And, springing from the bed of sloth, enjoy The cool, the fragrant, and the silent hour To meditation due and sacred song? For is there aught in sleep can charm the wise? To lie in dead oblivion, losing half •The fleeting moments of too short a life; Total extinction of th
Seite 49 - These words did say : In the touch of this bosom there worketh a spell Which is lord of thy utterance, Christabel ! Thou knowest to-night, and wilt know to-morrow This mark of my shame, this seal of my sorrow...
Seite 9 - What you are stepping westward?' 'What you are stepping westward?' — 'Yea' — Twould be a wildish destiny, If we, who thus together roam In a strange Land, and far from home, Were in this place the guests of Chance: Yet who would stop, or fear to advance, Though home or shelter he had none, With such a Sky to lead him on?
Seite 253 - O'er bog, and brake, and precipice, till death ? And toil we still for sublunary pay ? Defy the dangers of the field and flood, Or, spider-like, spin out our precious All, Our more than vitals spin (if no regard To great futurity) in curious webs...
Seite 253 - And every moment fear to sink beneath The clod we tread ; soon trodden by our sons); How great, in the wild whirl of Time's pursuits. To stop, and pause...
Seite 18 - He little recked of good or harm, Fierce both in mirth and toil ; Yet like a dog could fawn, if need there were ; Speak mildly when he would, or look in fear.

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