Memoir of the Life and Writings of Mrs. Hemans

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Lea and Blanchard, 1839 - 336 Seiten
 

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Seite 197 - Where slaves once more their native land behold, No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold. To Be, contents his natural desire, He asks no Angel's wing, no Seraph's fire; But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company.
Seite 310 - Fear no more the frown o' the great, Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; Care no more to clothe, and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust.
Seite 107 - His steps are not upon thy paths— thy fields Are not a spoil for him— thou dost arise And shake him from thee ; the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray And howling, to his Gods, where haply lies His petty hope in some near port or bay, And dashest him again to earth — there let him lay.
Seite 221 - Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard Celestial voices, to the midnight air, Sole, or responsive...
Seite 39 - SHE was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn: A dancing shape, an image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay.
Seite 304 - And slight withal may be the things which bring Back on the heart the weight which it would fling Aside for ever; it may be a sound, — A tone of music, summer's eve, or spring, A flower, the wind, the ocean, — which shall wound, Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound...
Seite 276 - In darkness, and amid the many shapes Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, Have hung upon the beatings of my heart, How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, O sylvan Wye! Thou wanderer thro' the woods, How often has my spirit turned to thee!
Seite 313 - Towards spire and tower, midst shadowy elms ascending, Whence the sweet chimes proclaim the hallowed day ! The halls from old heroic ages grey Pour their fair children forth ; and hamlets low, With whose thick orchard-blooms the soft winds play, Send out their inmates in a happy flow, Like a freed vernal stream.
Seite 288 - DEAR GODCHILD, I offer up the same fervent prayer for you now, as I did kneeling before the altar, when you were baptized into Christ, and solemnly received as a living member of his spiritual body, the Church. Years must pass before you will be able to read, with an understanding heart, what I now write. But I trust that the all-gracious God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of Mercies, who, by his...
Seite 299 - She exerted herself to write many letters to impart the glad tidings to her friends, speaking invariably of this noble act of kindness as having filled her mind with joy and thankfulness; as being "a sunshine without a cloud." Again must her own words be quoted from one of the last of her letters to Mrs. Lawrence : — " Well, my dear friend, I hope rny life, if it be spared, may now flow back into its native course of quiet thoughtfulness.

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