Sketches of New England: Or, Memories of the Country

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E. French, 1842 - 286 Seiten

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Seite 268 - UNVEIL thy bosom, faithful tomb, Take this new treasure to thy trust ; And give these sacred relics room, To seek a slumber in the dust. 2 Nor pain, nor grief, nor anxious fear Invade thy bounds : no mortal woes Can reach the peaceful sleeper here, While angels watch the soft repose. 3 So Jesus slept ; — God's dying Son...
Seite 267 - Appals the gazing mourner's heart, As if to him it could impart The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon; Yes, but for these, and these alone, Some' moments, ay, one treacherous hour, He still might doubt the tyrant's power; So fair, so calm, so softly sealed, The first, last look by death revealed ! Such is the aspect of this shore ; Tis Greece, but living Greece no more!
Seite 103 - I wish the bald eagle had not been chosen as the representative of our country : he is a bird of bad moral character; he does not get his living honestly.
Seite 104 - ... and, when that diligent bird has at length taken a fish, and is bearing it to his nest for the support of his mate and young ones, the bald eagle pursues him and takes it from him. With all this injustice he is never in good case ; but, like those among men who live by sharping and robbing, he is generally poor, and often very lousy.
Seite 267 - And — but for that sad shrouded eye, That fires not, wins not, weeps not now, And but for that chill changeless brow, Where cold Obstruction's apathy Appals the gazing mourner's heart...
Seite 97 - Who first beholds the Alps — that mighty chain Of Mountains, stretching on from east to west, So massive, yet so shadowy, so ethereal, As to belong rather to Heaven than Earth — But instantly receives into his soul A sense, a feeling that he loses not, A something that informs him 'tis a moment Whence he may date henceforward and for ever...
Seite 260 - Is it well with thee ? is it well with thy husband ? is it well with the child ? And she answered, It is well.
Seite 197 - In expressing slowness of apprehension this actor surpassed all others. You could see the first dawn of an idea stealing slowly over his countenance, climbing up by little and little, with a painful process, till it cleared up at last to the fulness of a twilight conception — its highest meridian.
Seite 269 - And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side: In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forest cast...
Seite 7 - It's no in making muckle mair : It's no in books; it's no in lear, To mak us truly blest : If happiness hae not her seat And centre in the breast, We may be wise, or rich, or great, But never can be blest : Nae treasures, nor pleasures, Could make us happy lang...

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