The Literary and Scientific Repository, and Critical Review, Том 1

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Charles Kitchell Gardner
Wiley and Halsted, 1820
 

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Стр. 435 - For I must tread on shadowy ground, must sink Deep, and, aloft ascending, breathe in worlds To which the heaven of heavens is but a veil. All strength, all terror, single or in bands, That ever was put forth in personal form — Jehovah, with his thunder, and the choir Of shouting Angels, and the empyreal thrones, — I pass them unalarmed.
Стр. 431 - tis the soul of peace ; Of all the virtues 'tis nearest kin to heaven ; It makes men look like gods. The best of men That e'er wore earth about him was a sufferer, A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit, The first true gentleman that ever breath'd.
Стр. 102 - Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay: Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade; A breath can make them, as a breath has made: But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroyed, can never be supplied.
Стр. 184 - ... paid a license of a hundred pounds for the privilege of putting him to death. His whole property is then immediately taxed from 2 to 10 per cent. Besides the probate, large fees are demanded for burying him in the chancel; his virtues are handed down to posterity on taxed marble ; and he is then gathered to his fathers, — to be taxed no more.
Стр. 400 - Health to great Jeffrey ! Heaven preserve his life To flourish on the fertile shores of Fife, And guard it sacred in its future wars, Since authors sometimes seek the field of Mars ! Can none remember that eventful day ? That ever glorious, almost fatal fray, When Little's leadless pistol met his eye, And Bow-street myrmidons stood laughing by?
Стр. 418 - ONE struggle more, and I am free From pangs that rend my heart in twain : One last long sigh to love and thee, Then back to busy life again. It suits me well to mingle now With things that never pleased before : Though every joy is fled below, What future grief can touch me more...
Стр. 236 - Of the vast meteor sunk, the Poet's blood, That ever beat in mystic sympathy With Nature's ebb and flow, grew feebler still. And, when two lessening points of light alone Gleamed through the darkness, the alternate gasp Of his faint respiration scarce did stir The stagnate night — till the minutest ray Was quenched, the pulse yet lingered in his heart. It paused — it fluttered. But, when heaven remained Utterly black, the murky shades involved An image silent, cold, and motionless, As their own...
Стр. 186 - In the four quarters of the globe, who reads an American book ? or goes to an American play : or looks at an American picture or statue ? What does the world yet owe to American physicians or surgeons?
Стр. 497 - I am willing to love all mankind, except an American ;" and his inflammable corruption bursting into horrid fire, he " breathed out threatenings and slaughter;" calling them " rascals, robbers, pirates," and exclaiming, he'd
Стр. 416 - To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd.

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