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" The hills Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun, the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woods — rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, Old ocean's gray and... "
Poems of the English Race - Стр. 276
редактор(ы): - 1921 - Страниц: 410
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The Inquirer, Том 1

1822 - Страниц: 764
...and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green — and, poured round all, Old Ocean's grey and melancholy waste, — • Are but the solemn decorations...tribes That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous .woods Where rolls the...
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Specimens of the American Poets

1822 - Страниц: 298
...and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green — and, poured round all, Old Ocean's grey and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations...tribes That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan,...
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The United States Literary Gazette, Том 1

1825 - Страниц: 426
...majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green ; and poured round Old ocean's grey and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations...a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. So -l..ni thou rest — and what if thou shall fall Unnoticed by the living — and no friend Take...
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The Edinburgh Literary Journal: Or, Weekly Register of Criticism and ..., Том 2

1829 - Страниц: 642
...move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green — and, pour'd round all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,— Are but...the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the contiguous woods, Where rolls the...
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Kettell, Samuel: Specimens of American Poetry...

1829 - Страниц: 436
...majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green ; and pour'd round all, Old ocean's grey and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations...tribes That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning — and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the...
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The Edinburgh Literary Journal: Or, Weekly Register of Criticism and ..., Том 2

1829 - Страниц: 514
...melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden tun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are...the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the contiguous woods, Where rolls the...
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The Edinburgh Literary Journal: Or, Weekly Register of Criticism and ..., Том 2

1829 - Страниц: 520
...that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green— and, pour'd round all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — Are but...shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still laps? of ages— all that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom....
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Studies in Poetry: Embracing Notices of the Lives and Writings of the Best ...

George Barrell Cheever - 1830 - Страниц: 516
...that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green ; and pour'd round all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — Are but...tribes That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning — and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the...
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The Cambridge Book of Poetry and Song

Charlotte Fiske Bates - 1832 - Страниц: 1022
...that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — Are but...tribes That slumber In its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning, traverse Barca's desert sands, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the...
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The Foreign Quarterly Review, Том 5;Том 10

1832 - Страниц: 604
...that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste — Are but...the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan,...
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