Biography and Poetical Remains of the Late Margaret Miller DavidsonLea and Blanchard, 1841 - 359 pages |
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angel beam beautiful bloom Boabdil bosom breast breath bright brother brow burst calm cheek cheerful child clouds cold dark Davidson dear mother death deep delight dread dream Dutchess County earth earthly Emily Erstein fading fair fancy farewell father fear feel flowers gaze gentle glance glory glowing golden sun grief hand happy haste hath heart heaven heavenly hope hour Lake Champlain light look lyre Margaret MARGARET MILLER DAVIDSON martial music Melanie mighty mighty hand mind mingled Morna morning mourn ne'er neath never night o'er pain pale pass'd Plattsburgh pleasure pride pure rapture rest scene seem'd seemed sigh silent sister sleep smile soft soothe sorrow soul spirit spring stream sweet sweetly tears thee thine thou art thought throne tones trembling Twas Twill voice Walter and Emily WASHINGTON IRVING waves weep wild wings young youthful
Popular passages
Page 145 - WHEN I can read my title clear To mansions in the skies, I bid farewell to every fear, And wipe my weeping eyes.
Page 57 - So dear to Heaven is saintly chastity, That, when a soul is found sincerely so, A thousand liveried angels lackey her, Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, And in clear dream, and solemn vision, Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear, Till oft converse with heavenly habitants Begin to cast a beam on the outward shape, The unpolluted temple of the mind, And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence, Till all be made immortal.
Page 34 - I've watch'd the fresh'ning shower Bending the summer tree and flower, And felt my little heart beat high As the bright rainbow graced the sky. Could I but see thee once again, My own, my beautiful Champlain! And shall I never see thee more, My native lake, my much-loved shore? And must I bid a long adieu, My dear, my infant home, to you? Shall I not see thee once again, My own, my beautiful Champlain?
Page 229 - By this means it had remained standing for several hundred years, in defiance of storms and earthquakes, while almost all other buildings of the Moors had fallen to ruin and disappeared. This spell, the tradition went on to say, would last until the hand on the outer arch should reach down and grasp the key, when the whole pile would tumble to pieces, and all the treasures buried beneath it by the Moors would be revealed.
Page 98 - Tis a joyous hour of mirth and love, And my heart is overflowing ! Come, let us raise our thoughts above, While pure, and fresh, and glowing. 'T is the happiest day of the rolling year, But it comes in a robe of mourning Nor light, nor life, nor bloom is here Its icy shroud adorning. It comes when all around is dark, 'Tis meet it so should be, For its joy is the joy of the happy heart, The spirit's jubilee.
Page 55 - I hovered upon the borders of the grave; and when I arose from this bed of pain, so feeble that I could not sustain my own weight, it was to witness the rupture of a blood-vessel in her lungs, caused by exertions to suppress a cough. Oh, it was agony to see her thus! I was compelled to conceal every appearance of alarm, lest the agitation of her mind should produce fatal consequences. As I seated myself by her, she raised her speaking eyes to mine with a mournful, inquiring gaze; and as she read...
Page 141 - By the soft cords of heavenly love, When the vain cares of earth depart, And tuneful voices swell my heart, Then shall each word, each note I raise, Burst forth in pealing hymns of praise, And all not offered at His shrine, Dear mother, I will place on thine.
Page 34 - Thy verdant banks, thy lucid stream, Lit by the sun's resplendent beam, Reflect each bending tree so light Upon thy bounding bosom bright. Could I but see thee once again, My own, my beautiful Champlain! The little isles that deck thy breast, And calmly on thy bosom rest, How often, in my childish glee, I've sported round them, bright and free! Could I but see thee once again, My own, my beautiful Champlain!
Page 293 - Yes, mother, fifty years have fled, With rapid footsteps, o'er thy head ; Have past with all their motley train, And left thee on thy couch of pain ! How many smiles and sighs and tears, How many hopes and doubts and fears Have vanished with that lapse of years.