The American Monthly Magazine, Том 4;Том 10

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M. Bancroft, J. Wiley, and G. and C. and H. Carvill, 1837

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Стр. 245 - The sky is changed! — and such a change! Oh night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder!
Стр. 11 - Thinkest thou that I cannot now pray to my Father, and he shall presently give me more than twelve legions of angels ? But how then shall the scriptures be fulfilled, that thus it must be...
Стр. 6 - There was a man in our town, And he was wondrous wise, He jumped into a bramble bush And scratched out both his eyes. And when he saw his eyes were out, With all his might and main He jumped into another bush And scratched them in again.
Стр. 580 - Yet could not, till itself would rise, Find it, although before mine eyes ; For, in the flaxen lilies' shade, It like a bank of lilies laid. Upon the roses it would feed, Until its lips e'en seemed to bleed And then to me 'twould boldly trip, And print those roses on my lip.
Стр. 178 - How cheeks brent red wi' shame, Whene'er the scule-weans, laughin' said, We cleek'd thegither hame ? And mind ye o' the Saturdays, (The scule then skail't at noon,) When we ran aff to speel the braes — The broomy braes o...
Стр. 225 - There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ; A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell...
Стр. 178 - I've borne a weary lot ; But in my wanderings, far or near, Ye never were forgot. The fount that first burst frae this heart, Still travels on its way ; And channels deeper as it rins, The luve o' life's young day. O, dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, Since we were sindered young, I've never seen your face, nor heard The music o...
Стр. 178 - In the silentness o' joy, till baith Wi' very gladness grat. Ay, ay, dear Jeanie Morrison, Tears trinkled doun your cheek Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nane Had ony power to speak! That was a time, a blessed time, When hearts were fresh and young When freely gushed all feelings forth, Unsyllabled, — unsung ! I marvel, Jeanie Morrison, Gin I hae been to thee As closely twined wi...
Стр. 309 - They will bring with them the principles of the governments they leave, imbibed in their early youth; or, if able to throw them off it will be in exchange for an unbounded licentiousness, passing as is usual, from one extreme to another. It would be a miracle were they to stop precisely at the point of temperate liberty.
Стр. 580 - I have a garden of my own, But so with roses overgrown, And lilies, that you would it guess To be a little wilderness, And all the springtime of the year It only loved to be there.

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