Friendship's Gift of Moral and Entertaining Literature, Bände 1-2

M. O. Stevens
Edward A. Rice, 1847 - 288 Seiten
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Seite 169 - SHE stood breast high amid the corn, Clasped by the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a glowing kiss had won. On her cheek an autumn flush, Deeply ripened ; — such a blush In the midst of brown was born, Like red poppies grown with corn. Round her eyes her tresses fell, Which were blackest none could tell, But long lashes veiled a light, That had else been all too bright. And her hat, with shady brim, Made her tressy forehead...
Seite 95 - Wild is thy lay and loud, Far in the downy cloud, Love gives it energy, love gave it birth. Where, on thy dewy wing, Where art thou journeying ? Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.
Seite 233 - to exhibit in one glow of associated beauty the pride of every model and the perfection of every master. As a general, he marshalled the peasant into a veteran and supplied by discipline the absence of experience. As...
Seite 26 - tis lovely ! Childhood's lip and cheek Mantling beneath its earnest brow of thought. Gaze ! — yet what see'st thou in those fair, and meek, And fragile things, as but for sunshine wrought ? Thou see'st what grief must nurture for the sky, What death must fashion for eternity...
Seite 81 - A little more sleep, a little more slumber, a little " more folding of the hands to sleep.
Seite 109 - Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith.
Seite 217 - THOSE few pale autumn flowers, How beautiful they are ! Than all that went before, Than all the summer store, How lovelier far ! And why ? — They are the last ! The last ! the last ! the last ! Oh ! by that little word, How many thoughts are stirred...
Seite 253 - And death's full joy is given, Of those who sit and love you up in heaven, Say not,
Seite 84 - O, how wonderful is the human voice! It is indeed the organ of the soul! The intellect of man sits enthroned visibly upon his forehead and in his eye ; and the heart of man is written upon his countenance. But the soul reveals itself in the voice only...
Seite 121 - Then dashed away, playing the prodigal, And soon was lost — stealing unseen, unheard, Through the long grass, and round the twisted roots Of aged trees ; discovering where it ran By the fresh verdure. Overcome with heat...

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