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Книги Книги 31 - 40 из 169 по запросу All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom....
" All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom... "
The Poets and Poetry of America - Стр. 172
авторы: Rufus Wilmot Griswold - 1855 - Страниц: 622
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The Young Lady's Reader

Louisa Caroline Tuthill - 1839 - Страниц: 458
...the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the...Save his own dashings ; yet — the dead are there, Anil millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their...
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The American Common-place Book of Poetry, with Occasional Notes

1839 - Страниц: 405
...the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the...Oregon, and hears no sound, Save his own dashings; yet—the dead are there ; And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began,...
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The Poets of America, Том 1

John Keese - 1840
...the infinite host of heaven* Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the...first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone. So shalt thou rest— and what if thou shalt fall...
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The Poets of America: Illustrated by One of Her Painters...

John Keese - 1840 - Страниц: 284
...the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the...first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone. So shall thou rest — and what if thou withdraw...
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The American Orator's Own Book: A Manual of Extemporaneous Eloquence ...

1840 - Страниц: 279
...the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the...rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashing* ; yet — the dead are there ; And millions in those solitudes, since first The night of years...
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The Remembrancer: Or, Fragments for Leisure Hours ...

Association for the Improvement of Juvenile Books - 1841 - Страниц: 228
...the infinite host of heaven Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the...continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sounds, Save his own dashings, yet the dead are there, And millions in these solitudes, since first...
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Poems: By William Cullen Bryant

William Cullen Bryant - 1840 - Страниц: 276
...the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the...lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound, THANATOPSIS. 33 Save his own dashings — yet — the dead are there ;...
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Progressive Exercises in English Composition

Richard Green Parker - 1840 - Страниц: 108
...handful, and slumber, immediately suggest a figurative expression like that beautiful one of Bryant, " All that tread " The globe are but a handful to the tribes " That slumber in its bosom." The facility with which the pupil, after a little practice, with the aid of models and suggestions...
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The American Common-place Book of Poetry: With Occasional Notes

George Barrell Cheever - 1841 - Страниц: 405
...the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the slill lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the...its bosom. Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan deserl pierce ; Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,...
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A System of Elocution: With Special Reference to Gesture, to the Treatment ...

Andrew Comstock - 1841 - Страниц: 364
...hand,fulb | to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. | Take the wings Of morn'ing, | and the Barcon des,ert , pierce,, | Or lose thyself in the continuous...Where rolls the Or'egon, | and hears no sound, | Save Ais own dash,ings — | yet the dead are there, ; | And miirions in those solitudes, | since first...
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