Poetical Remains of the Late Lucretia Maria DavidsonLea and Blanchard, 1841 - 312 Seiten |
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Alphonso Amir Khan Amreta angel bachelors bark beam beautiful beneath blaze bloom blush book of Job bosom breast breath breeze bright bright eye brilliant brow burning calm cheek Chicomico child clouds cold cried dark dark page Davidson dear death deep delight dread earth faded fair Farewell fear feel fifteenth fled flower foaming gaze gleam glittering glow grave grief hand harp hath heart Heaven hope hour Ianthe Israel life's light lone Lucretia LUCRETIA MARIA DAVIDSON maiden mamma mark Montonoc mother murmur ne'er neath never night numbers o'er thy old bachelor pale Parian marble paused pinions Plattsburgh pleasure pure Rathmond roll rose round shade sigh silent sister sixteenth skiff sleep smile song sorrow soul spirit star storm stream Subahdar sweet tear tempest thee thou trembling Twas twink voice wave weep wild wing withered Written
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Seite 184 - And Abraham gat up early in the morning to the place where he stood before the LORD : and he looked toward Sodom and Gomorrah, and toward all the land of the plain, and beheld, and, lo, the smoke of the country went up as the smoke of a furnace.
Seite 224 - Thy will be done !" 622. CM Prayer in view of Death. 1 WHEN, bending o'er the brink of life, My trembling soul shall stand, Waiting to pass death's awful flood, Great God ! at thy command ; — 2...
Seite 87 - In these poems," (" Amir Khan," &.c.) " there is enough of originality, enough of aspiration, enough of conscious energy, enough of growing power, to warrant any expectations, however sanguine, which the patrons, and the friends and parents, of the deceased, could have formed.
Seite 224 - O thou great Source of joy supreme ! Whose arm alone can save, — Dispel the darkness that surrounds The entrance to the grave.
Seite 209 - There is a something which I dread, It is a dark, a fearful thing ; It steals along with withering tread, Or sweeps on wild destruction's wing. That thought comes o'er me in the hour Of grief, of sickness, or of sadness ; 'Tis not the dread of death — 'tis more, It is the dread of madness.
Seite 56 - T were almost sacrilege to sing Those notes amid the glare of day; Notes borne by angel's purest wing, And wafted by their breath away. « When sleeping in my grass-grown bed, Should'st thou still linger here above, Wilt thou not kneel beside my head, And, sister, sing the song I love ? " We insert here a striking circumstance that occurred during a visit she made to her sister the following year.
Seite 87 - This statement does not comprise the large proportion (at least one third of the whole) which she destroyed. The genius of Lucretia Davidson has had the meed of far more authoritative praise than ours. The following tribute is from the London " Quarterly Review " ; a source whence praise of American productions is as rare as springs in the desert. The notice is by Mr. Southey, and is written with the earnest feeling, that characterizes that author, as generous as he is discriminating. " In these...
Seite 198 - I'm sure I ne'er saw any poetry sweeter. It seemed that a law had been recently made That a tax on old bachelors' pates should be laid, And in order to make them all willing to marry, The tax was as large as a man could well carry.
Seite 199 - In short, at a highly extravagant price, The bachelors all were sold off in a trice : And forty old maidens, some younger, some older, Each lugged...
Seite 162 - Why ling'rest thou here the lone garden to grace ? As I spoke, a rough blast, sent by Winter's own hand, Whistled by me, and bent its sweet head to the sand ; I hastened to raise it — the dew-drop had fled, And the once lovely flower was withered and dead.