Myrtis: With Other Etchings and Sketchings

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Harper, 1855 - 292 Seiten

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Seite 63 - Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried. The Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me.
Seite 21 - Fear made her devils, and weak hope her gods; Gods partial, changeful, passionate, unjust, Whose attributes were rage, revenge, or lust; Such as the souls of cowards might conceive, And, form'd like tyrants, tyrants would believe.
Seite 268 - Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part ; This is that incense of the heart Whose fragrance smells to heaven.
Seite 289 - Every log-cabin sends forth what it can spare for this work of pity and of sorrow. They cross each other's track. Incessantly they interrogate and reply, but in vain. The lost are not found ! In her mournful dwelling, the mother sat motionless. Her infant was upon her lap. The strong duty to succor its helplessness, grappled with the might of grief, and prevailed. Her eyes were riveted upon its brow. No sound passed her white lips. Pitying women, from distant habitations, gathered around and wept...
Seite 78 - She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love : A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky.
Seite 54 - There's not a flower on all the hills : the frost is on the pane: I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again: I wish the snow would melt and the sun come out on high: I long to see a flower so before the day I die. The building rook 'ill caw from the windy tall elm-tree, And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea, And the swallow 'ill come back again with summer o'er the wave But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering grave.
Seite 155 - You are a liar ; I am no more a witch than you are a wizard ; and if you take away my life, God will give you blood to drink.
Seite 288 - But it is so dark, so dark !" Rousing herself with difficulty, she unties her apron, and spreads it over the head of the child, to protect it from the driving snow; she pillows the cold cheek on her breast, and grasps more firmly the benumbed hand by which she had so faithfully led her, through all their terrible pilgrimage. There they are ! One moves not. The other keeps vigil, feebly giving utterance, at intervals, to a low, suffocating spasm from a throat dried with hunger. Once more she leans...
Seite 102 - We, the rightful lords of yore, Are the rightful lords no more ; Like the silver mist we fail, Like the red leaves in the gale, — Fail like shadows, when the dawning Waves the bright flag of the morning.

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