Отзывы - Написать отзыв
Не удалось найти ни одного отзыва.
Другие издания - Просмотреть все
The American Monthly Magazine and Critical Review, Том 3
H. Biglow,Orville Luther Holley
Полный просмотр - 1818
The American Monthly Magazine and Critical Review, Том 2
H. Biglow,Orville Luther Holley
Полный просмотр - 1817
aged American animals appears April beautiful Bible Society Bonaparte Boston British called canal Capt Captain character colour commenced coun court death disease dollars effect England English exhibited eyes favour feet France French Genesee river genus give heart Hessian Fly honour interest James John King lady Lake Lake Erie land late letter Lord Lord Byron memoir ment miles mind mineralogy miss miss Elizabeth Mitchill nature neral never New-York New-York Historical Society object observed officers patriots persons Philadelphia picture plants poem present President Prince published racter Rafinesque received remarks render river Russia Samuel Schoharie creek Seneca river ship species specimen spirit stamens style thee Thomas thou tion ture United vessels whole Yale College
Стр. 10 - At intervals, some bird from out the brakes Starts into voice a moment, then is still. There seems a floating whisper on the hill, But that is fancy, for the starlight dews All silently their tears of love instil, Weeping themselves away, till they infuse Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues.
Стр. 296 - No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
Стр. 296 - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
Стр. 296 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest With his martial cloak around him.
Стр. 296 - Oh ! when a Mother meets on high The Babe she lost in infancy, Hath she not then, for pains and fears, The day of woe, the watchful night, For all her sorrow, all her tears, An over-payment of delight...
Стр. 349 - Nor look'd upon the earth with human eyes ; The thirst of their ambition was not mine, The aim of their existence was not mine ; My joys, my griefs, my passions, and my powers, Made me a stranger ; though I wore the form, I had no sympathy with breathing flesh, Nor midst the creatures of clay that girded me Was there but one who but of her anon.
Стр. 9 - twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet But hark!
Стр. 296 - Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.
Стр. 349 - Or to look, list'ning, on the scattered leaves, While Autumn winds were at their evening song. These were my pastimes, and to be alone ; For if the beings, of whom I was one, — Hating to be so, — cross'd me in my path, I felt myself degraded back to them, And was all clay again.