The Knickerbocker: Or, New-York Monthly Magazine, Volume 13 (Google eBook)

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Page 376 - And with them the Being Beauteous Who unto my youth was given, More than all things else to love me, And is now a saint in heaven. With a slow and noiseless footstep Comes that messenger divine, Takes the vacant chair beside me, Lays her gentle hand in mine. And she sits and gazes at me With those deep and tender eyes, Like the stars, so still and saint-like, Looking downward from the skies.
Page 13 - He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves ; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves. "My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," The Reaper said, and smiled; "Dear tokens of the earth are they, Where he was once a child.
Page 13 - I have nought that is fair?" saith he; "Have nought but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again." He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves. "My...
Page 554 - When my eyes shall be turned to behold for the last time the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union : on States dissevered, discordant, belligerent ; on a land rent with civil feuds or drenched it may be in fraternal blood...
Page 77 - THE night is come, but not too soon ; And sinking silently, All silently, the little moon Drops down behind the sky. There is no light in earth or heaven, But the cold light of stars ; And the first watch of night is given To the red planet Mars.
Page 96 - Flush'd with a purple grace He shows his honest face: Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes! Bacchus, ever fair and young, Drinking joys did first ordain; Bacchus...
Page 121 - The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die.
Page 13 - Dear tokens of the earth are they, Where he was once a child. 'They shall all bloom in fields of light, Transplanted by my care, And saints, upon their garments white, These sacred blossoms wear.
Page 285 - THE time is now near at hand which must probably determine whether Americans are to be freemen or slaves ; whether they are to have any property they can call their own ; whether their houses and farms are to be pillaged and destroyed, and themselves consigned to a state of wretchedness from which no human efforts will deliver them. The fate of unborn millions will now depend, under God, on the courage and conduct of this army.
Page 97 - Your nuts in oak-tree cleft? 'For wine, for wine we left our kernel tree; For wine we left our heath, and yellow brooms, And cold mushrooms; For wine we follow Bacchus through the earth; Great God of breathless cups and chirping mirth! Come hither, lady fair, and joined be To our mad minstrelsy!

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