American Notes and Queries, Volume 7

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William Shepard Walsh, Henry Collins Walsh, William H. Garrison, Samuel R. Harris
Westminister Publishing Company, 1891 - Literature
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Page 305 - This liberty is the proper end and object of authority, and cannot subsist without it; and it is a liberty to that only which is good, just and honest.
Page 62 - Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 'Tis only noble to be good. Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.
Page 180 - It may be glorious to write Thoughts that shall glad the two or three High souls, like those far stars that come in sight Once in a century ; — But better far it is to speak One simple word, which now and then Shall waken their free nature in the weak And friendless sons of men...
Page 319 - Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all. '"It is the little rift within the lute, That by and by will make the music mute, And ever widening slowly silence all.
Page 278 - Then he found That the ground Was as hard That a yard Was as long, That a song Was as merry, That a cherry Was as red— That lead Was as weighty That fourscore Was as eighty...
Page 315 - And now the bell — the bell she had so often heard by night and day, and listened to with solemn pleasure, almost as a living voice — rung its remorseless toll for her, so young, so beautiful, so good. Decrepit age, and vigorous life, and blooming youth, and helpless infancy poured forth, — on crutches, in the pride of strength and health, in the full blush of promise, in the mere dawn of life, — to gather round her tomb.
Page 85 - O but they say the tongues of dying men Enforce attention like deep harmony: Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain. For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain.
Page 12 - I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, Singing at dawn on the alder bough; I brought him home, in his nest, at even ; He sings the song, but it cheers not now, For I did not bring home the river and sky; — He sang to my ear, — they sang to my eye.
Page 151 - Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight.
Page 31 - there was no matter,' And proved it — 'twas no matter what he said: They say his system 'tis in vain to batter, Too subtle for the airiest human head ; And yet who can believe it? I would shatter Gladly all matters down to Stone or lead, Or adamant, to find the world a spirit, And wear my head, denying that I wear it.

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