The North American Review, Volume 53 (Google eBook)

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Jared Sparks, Edward Everett, James Russell Lowell, Henry Cabot Lodge
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Vols. 227-230, no. 2 include: Stuff and nonsense, v. 5-6, no. 8, Jan. 1929-Aug. 1930.
  

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Page 326 - What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? — They sought a faith's pure shrine. Ay, call it holy ground, — The soil where first they trod! They have left unstained what there they found — Freedom to worship God ! Felicia Hemans.
Page 401 - Lay her i' the earth : And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring ! I tell thee churlish priest, A ministering angel shall my sister be, When thou liest howling.
Page 408 - There's fennel for you, and columbines; there's rue for you; and here's some for me; we may call it herb of grace o' Sundays. O, you must wear your rue with a difference. There's a daisy; I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died.
Page 409 - And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freak'd with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears : Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffodillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.
Page 513 - Le monde est plein de gens qui ne sont pas plus sages : Tout Bourgeois veut bâtir comme les grands Seigneurs, Tout petit Prince a des Ambassadeurs, Tout Marquis veut avoir des Pages.
Page 62 - The evils we experience flow from the excess of democracy. The people do not want virtue, but are the dupes of pretended patriots. In Massachusetts it had been fully confirmed by experience, that they are daily misled into the most baneful measures and opinions, by the false reports circulated by designing men, and which no one on the spot can refute.
Page 271 - O'er a low couch the setting sun had thrown its latest ray, Where in his last strong agony a dying warrior lay, The stern old Baron Rudiger, whose frame had ne'er been bent By wasting pain, till time and toil its iron strength had spent. "They come around me here, and say my days of life are o'er, That I shall mount my noble steed and lead my band no more ; They come, and to my beard they dare to tell me now, that I, Their own liege lord and master born, — that I, ha ! ha ! must die.
Page 408 - With fairest flowers, Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave : thou shalt not lack The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose ; nor The azured hare-bell, like thy veins ; no, nor The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweeten'd not thy breath...
Page 172 - Over thy decent shoulders drawn. Come, but keep thy wonted state, With even step and musing gait And looks commercing with the skies, Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes...
Page 514 - Pendant qu'ils étaient en train. A la porte de la salle Ils entendirent du bruit : Le Rat de ville détale ; Son camarade le suit. Le bruit cesse, on se retire : Rats en campagne aussitôt ; Et le citadin de dire : Achevons tout notre rôt. - C'est assez, dit le rustique ; Demain vous viendrez chez moi : Ce n'est pas que je me pique De tous vos festins de Roi ; Mais rien ne vient m'interrompre Je mange tout à loisir. Adieu donc ; fi du plaisir Que la crainte peut corrompre.

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