Southern Literary Messenger, Volume 24 (Google eBook)

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Jno. R. Thompson, 1857
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Page 420 - Built round with ivy, which the waterfalls Illumining, with sound that never fails, Accompany the noonday nightingales. And all the place is peopled with sweet airs. The light clear element which the isle wears Is heavy with the scent of lemon-flowers, Which floats like mist laden with unseen showers. And falls upon the eyelids like faint sleep; And from the moss violets and jonquils peep, And dart their arrowy odour through the brain, Till you might faint with that delicious pain.
Page 314 - What preacher need moralize on this story ; what words save the simplest are requisite to tell it ? It is too terrible for tears. The thought of such a misery smites me down in submission before the Ruler of kings and men, the Monarch Supreme over empires and republics, the inscrutable Dispenser of life, death, happiness, victory.
Page 174 - On thy fair bosom, silver lake, The wild swan spreads his snowy sail, And round his breast the ripples break, As down he bears before the gale. On thy fair bosom, waveless stream, The dipping paddle echoes far, And flashes in the moonlight gleam, And bright reflects the polar star.
Page 174 - How sweet, at set of sun, to view Thy golden mirror spreading wide, And see the mist of mantling blue Float round the distant mountain's side.
Page 343 - The days of our age are threescore years and ten ; and though men be so strong that they come to fourscore years : yet is their strength then but labour and sorrow; so soon passeth it away, and we are gone.
Page 314 - He was not only sightless : he became utterly deaf. All light/ all reason/ all sound of human voices/ all the pleasures of this world of God/ were taken from him. Some slight lucid moments he had ; in one of which/ the Queen/ desiring to see him/ entered the room/ and found him singing a hymn/ and accompanying himself at the harpsichord.
Page 479 - Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome.
Page 475 - When my children were very young, when, as far as I can remember, the oldest was about ten years of age, and the youngest about four, thinking that they knew more than I had yet discovered, in order to make them speak with less timidity, I deemed that if...
Page 475 - Bell) and asked what a child like her most wanted; she answered 'Age and experience.
Page 106 - God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty; and base things of the world, and things which are despised hath God chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things that are: that no flesh should glory in his presence.

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