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2,201 illustrations — Poetic illustrations and verse for preaching
A region desolate and wild. Black, chafing water: and afloat, And lonely as a truant child In a waste wood, a single boat: No mast, no sails are set thereon; It moves, but never moveth on: And welters like a...
Nose and Chin that make a knocker, Wrinkles that would puzzle Cocker; Mouth that marks the envious Scorner, With a Scorpion in each corner Curling up his tail to sting you, In the place that most may wring you; Eyes...
How he sleepeth! having drunken Weary childhood's mandragore, From his pretty eyes have sunken Pleasures, to make room for more--- Sleeping near the withered nosegay, which he pulled the day before. leave them for the waking: Throw them earthward where they grew.
My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a water'd shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea;...
HERE is the glen, and here the bower All underneath the birchen shade; The village-bell has told the hour, O what can stay my lovely maid? ’Tis not Maria’s whispering call; ’Tis but the balmy breathing gale, Mixt with some...
Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child, And he laughing said to me: "Pipe a song about a Lamb!" So I piped with merry cheer. "Piper, pipe that song again;"...
My period had come for Prayer -- No other Art -- would do -- My Tactics missed a rudiment -- Creator -- Was it you?...
Written when the news arrived. Toll for the brave! The brave that are no more! All sunk beneath the wave Fast by their native shore. Eight hundred of the brave, Whose courage well was tried, Had made the vessel heel,...
Such were the notes thy once-loved Poet sung, Till Death untimely stopp'd his tuneful tongue. Oh just beheld and lost! admired and mourn'd! With softest manners, gentlest arts adorn'd! Blest in each science, blest in every strain! Dear to the Muse!
The waters are flashing, The white hail is dashing, The lightnings are glancing, The hoar-spray is dancing-- Away! The whirlwind is rolling, The thunder is tolling, The forest is swinging, The minster bells ringing-- Come away!
FAREWELL to the Highlands, farewell to the North, The birth-place of Valour, the country of Worth; Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.
O WHA my babie-clouts will buy? O wha will tent me when I cry? Wha will kiss me where I lie? The rantin’ dog, the daddie o’t. O wha will own he did the faut? O wha will buy the groanin maut?
Oh, Mariamne! now for thee The heart for which thou bled'st is bleeding; Revenge is lost in Agony And wild Remorse to rage succeeding. Oh, Mariamne! where art thou? Thou canst not hear my bitter pleading: Ah! could'st thou--thou would'st...
The Soul has Bandaged moments -- When too appalled to stir -- She feels some ghastly Fright come up And stop to look at her...
XIX The soul's Rialto hath its merchandise; I barter curl for curl upon that mart, And from my poet's forehead to my heart Receive this lock which outweighs argosies,— As purply black, as erst to Pindar's eyes The dim purpureal...
Her Sweet turn to leave the Homestead Came the Darker Way -- Carriages -- Be Sure -- and Guests -- too -- But for Holiday...
DEAR MURRAY,-- You ask for a "_Volume of Nonsense_," Have all of your authors exhausted their store? I thought you had published a good deal not long since. And doubtless the Squadron are ready with more.
weep for those that wept by Babel's stream, Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream; Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell; Mourn--where their God hath dwelt the godless dwell! And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet?
When I rov'd a young Highlander o'er the dark heath, And climb'd thy steep summit, oh Morven of snow!
The Trees like Tassels -- hit -- and swung -- There seemed to rise a Tune From Miniature Creatures Accompanying the Sun -- Far Psalteries...
NO Spartan tube, no Attic shell, No lyre Æolian I awake; ’Tis liberty’s bold note I swell, Thy harp, Columbia, let me take!
All the night in woe Lyca's parents go Over valleys deep, While the deserts weep. Tired and woe-begone, Hoarse with making moan, Arm in arm, seven days They traced the desert ways. Seven nights they sleep Among shadows deep, And...
Weep with me, all you that read This little story; And know, for whom a tear you shed Death's self is sorry. 'Twas a child that so did thrive In grace and feature, As heaven and nature seemed to strive Which owned the creature.
They that have power to hurt, and will do none, That do not do the thing they most do show, Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow; They rightly do inherit heaven's graces, And...
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