The Connecticut Magazine: An Illustrated Monthly, Volume 3 (Google eBook)

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Connecticut Magazine Company, 1897 - Connecticut
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Page 277 - To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread. Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
Page 277 - A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place...
Page 277 - Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side ; But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt, for all.
Page 307 - HAPPY the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air, In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire ; Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire.
Page 458 - Starboard it was— and so, Like a black squall's lifting frown, Our mighty bow bore down On the iron beak of the Foe. We stood on the deck together. Men that had looked on death In battle and stormy weather; Yet a little we held our breath, When, with the hush of death, The great ships drew together. Our Captain strode to the bow, Drayton, courtly and wise, Kindly cynic, and wise {You hardly had known him now...
Page 458 - twas still all a-roar, As the ships went by the shore, But the fire of the Fort had slacked, (So fierce their volleys had been) — And now, with a mighty din, The whole fleet came grandly in, Though sorely battered and wracked. So, up the Bay we ran, The Flag to port and ahead — And a pitying rain began To wash the lips of our dead. A league from the Fort we lay, And deemed that the end must lag,— When lo! looking down the Bay, There flaunted the Rebel Rag; — The Ram is again under way And...
Page 458 - With his mail-clad consorts three, (The rest had run up the Bay) — There he was, belching flame from his bow, And the steam from his throat's abyss Was a Dragon's maddened hiss — In sooth a most cursed craft !— In a sullen ring at bay By the Middle Ground they lay, Raking us fore and aft.
Page 457 - And hauntings of the gray sea-wolf, The palmy Western Key lay lapped In the warm washing of the Gulf. But weary to the hearts of all The burning glare, the barren reach Of Santa Rosa's withered beach, And Pensacola's ruined wall. And weary was the long patrol, The thousand miles of shapeless strand, From Brazos to San Bias that roll Their drifting dunes of desert sand.
Page 18 - The winds that swelled their harmonies Through those sun-hiding bowers, The temple vast — the green arcade, The nestling vale — the grassy glade, Dark cave and swampy lair ; These scenes and sounds majestic, made His world, his pleasures, there. His roof adorned a pleasant spot, 'Mid the black logs green glowed the grain, And herbs and plants the woods knew not, Throve in the sun and rain.
Page 124 - Take counsel, execute judgment; Make thy shadow as the night in the midst of the noonday ; Hide the outcasts ; bewray not him that wandereth. Let mine outcasts dwell with thee, Moab ; Be thou a covert to them from the face of the spoiler : For the extortioner is at an end, the spoiler ceaseth, The oppressors are consumed out of the land.

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