The New York Review, Band 4

Cover
Francis Lister Hawks, Caleb Sprague Henry, Joseph Green Cogswell
G. Dearborn & Company, 1839
 

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Seite 43 - Will no one tell me what she sings? Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again?
Seite 24 - I have seen A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract Of inland ground, applying to his ear The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell; To which, in silence hushed, his very soul Listened intensely ; and his countenance soon Brightened with joy ; for from within were heard Murmurings, whereby the monitor expressed Mysterious union with its native sea.
Seite 1 - Science is pleasure ; but the knowledge of the one cleaves to us as a necessary part of our existence, our natural and unalienable inheritance ; the other is a personal and individual acquisition, slow to come to us, and by no habitual and direct sympathy connecting us with our fellow-beings.
Seite 22 - My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began ; So is it now I am a man ; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The child is father of the man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
Seite 43 - Reaper Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound.
Seite 1 - He is a man speaking to men: a man, it is true, endowed with more lively sensibility, more enthusiasm and tenderness, who has a greater knowledge of human nature, and a more comprehensive soul, than are supposed to be common among mankind...
Seite 13 - Paradise, and groves Elysian, Fortunate Fields — like those of old Sought in the Atlantic Main — why should they be A history only of departed things, Or a mere fiction of what never was ? For the discerning intellect of Man, When wedded to this goodly universe In love and holy passion, shall find these A simple produce of the common day.
Seite 42 - And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine ; A Being breathing thoughtful breath, A traveller between life and death ; The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill ; A perfect Woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command ; And yet a Spirit still, and bright, With something of angelic light.
Seite 29 - Some apprehension, Some steady love, some brief delight, Some memory that had taken flight, Some chime of fancy wrong or right, Or stray invention. If stately passions in me burn, And one chance look to thee should turn, I drink out of an humbler urn A lowlier pleasure — The homely sympathy that heeds The common life our nature breeds, A wisdom fitted to the needs Of hearts at leisure.

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