The New-York Review, and Atheneum Magazine, Volume 2

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E. Bliss & E. White, 1826 - American periodicals
 

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Page 187 - Of her bright face one glance will trace A picture on the brain, And of her voice in echoing hearts A sound must long remain; But memory, such as mine of her, So very much endears, When death is nigh my latest sigh Will not be life's, but hers. I fill this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex The seeming paragon — Her health! and would on earth there stood Some more of such a frame, That life might be all poetry, And weariness a name.
Page 187 - A form so fair, that, like the air, 'tis less of earth than heaven. Her every tone is music's own, like those of morning birds, And something more than melody dwells ever in her words ; The coinage of her heart are they, and from her lips each flows As one may see the burthened bee forth issue from the rose.
Page 59 - Celestial voices Hymn it unto our souls : according harps, By angel fingers touched when the mild stars Of morning sang together, sound forth still The song of our great immortality...
Page 59 - tis in the gentle moonlight ; 'Tis floating 'midst day's setting glories ; night, Wrapped in her sable robe, with silent step Comes to our bed, and breathes it in our ears ; Night, and the dawn, bright day, and thoughtful eve...
Page 58 - Is this thy prison-house, thy grave, then, Love? And doth death cancel the great bond that holds Commingling spirits ? Are thoughts that know no bounds, But, self-inspired, rise upward, searching out The Eternal Mind, the Father of all thought, — Are they become mere tenants of a tomb ? — Dwellers in darkness, who the illuminate realms Of uncreated light have visited, and lived ? — Lived in the dreadful splendor of that throne Which One, with gentle hand the...
Page 188 - I fill this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex The seeming paragon; To whom the better elements And kindly stars have given A form so fair, that, like the air, Tis less of earth than heaven.
Page 391 - With the motion and the roar Of waves that drive to shore, One spirit did ye urge — The Mystery— the Word. Of thousands, thou both sepulchre and pall, Old ocean, art ! A requiem o'er the dead, From out thy gloomy cells A tale of mourning tells — Tells of man's wo and fall, His sinless glory fled.
Page 441 - WHEREAS, his Britannic majesty, in conjunction with the lords and commons of Great Britain, has, by a late act of parliament, excluded the inhabitants of these united colonies from the protection of his crown. AND WHEREAS, no answer whatever to the humble petitions of the colonies for redress of grievances and reconciliation with Great Britain, has been, or is likely to be given, but the whole force of that kingdom, aided by foreign mercenaries, is to be exerted for the destruction of the good people...
Page 441 - WHEREAS it appears absolutely irreconcilable to reason and good conscience, for the people of these Colonies now to take the oaths and affirmations necessary for the support of any government under the Crown of Great Britain, and it is necessary that the exercise of every kind of authority under the said Crown should be totally suppressed...
Page 330 - WHITE as a white sail on a dusky sea. When half the horizon's clouded and half free, Fluttering between the dun wave and the sky, Is hope's last gleam in man's, extremity.

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