C. Wiley, 1823 - 396 sider

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Side 191 - And mantled with its beauty ; and the walls That close the universe with crystal in Are eloquent with voices that proclaim The unseen glories of immensity In harmonies too perfect and too high For aught but beings of celestial...
Side 318 - DEEP in the wave is a coral grove, Where the purple mullet, and gold-fish rove, Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue, That never are wet with falling dew, But in bright and changeful beauty shine, Far down in the green and glassy brine.
Side 360 - On thy fair bosom, silver lake, The wild swan spreads his snowy sail, And round his breast the ripples break, As down he bears before the gale. On thy fair bosom, waveless stream, The dipping paddle echoes far, And flashes in the moonlight gleam, And bright reflects the polar star.
Side 140 - O ! with a joy no gifted tongue can tell, I hurry o'er the waters, when the sail Swells tensely, and the light keel glances well Over the curling billow, and the gale Comes off the spicy groves to tell its winning tale.
Side 255 - HE comes not — I have watched the moon go down, But yet he comes not. — Once it was not so. He thinks not how these bitter tears do flow, The while he holds his riot in that town.
Side 140 - I, too, have seen thee on thy surging path, When the night tempest met thee ; thou didst dash Thy white arms high in heaven, as if in wrath Threatening the angry sky ; thy waves did lash The laboring vessel, and with deadening crash Rush madly forth to scourge its groaning sides ; Onward thy billows came to meet and clash In a wild warfare, till the lifted tides Mingled their yesty tops, where the dark stormcloud rides.
Side 323 - But the spirit, that shades the quiet cot With its wings of love, was there. I found that lily's bloom When the day was dark and chill : It smiled, like a star in the misty gloom, And it sent abroad a soft perfume, Which is floating around me still.
Side 310 - His gold-hiked sword At his bright belt is hung. His mantle of silk On his shoulder is flung, And high waves the feather, That dances and plays On his cap where the buckle And rosary blaze. The maid from her lattice Looks down on the lake, To see the foam sparkle, The bright billow break, And to hear in his boat, Where he shines like a star, Her lover so tenderly Touch his Guitar.
Side 137 - Thou wheel'st away thy flight, — the woods are shorn . Of all their waving locks, and storms awake ; All, that was once so beautiful, is torn By the wild winds which plough the lonely lake, And in their maddening rush the crested mountains shake.
Side 77 - She lives in her affections ; for the grave Has closed upon her husband, children ; all Her hopes are with the arm she trusts will save Her treasured jewels ; though her views are small, Though she has never mounted high, to fall And writhe in her debasement, yet the spring Of her meek, tender feelings cannot pall Her unperverted palate, but will bring A joy without regret, a bliss that has no sting.

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