The North American Review, Volume 60

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Jared Sparks, Edward Everett, James Russell Lowell, Henry Cabot Lodge
O. Everett, 1845 - American fiction
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Vols. 227-230, no. 2 include: Stuff and nonsense, v. 5-6, no. 8, Jan. 1929-Aug. 1930.
 

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Page 337 - And among these nations shalt thou find no ease, neither shall the sole of thy foot have rest: but the Lord shall give thee there a trembling heart, and failing of eyes, and sorrow of mind: and thy life shall hang in doubt before thee ; and thou shalt fear day and night, and shalt have none assurance of thy life: in the morning thou shalt say, Would God it were even!
Page 69 - Meantime I seek no sympathies, nor need — The thorns which I have reaped are of the tree I planted, — they have torn me, — and I bleed : I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.
Page 82 - Welcome to their roar! Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead ! Though the strain'd mast should quiver as a reed. And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale, Still must I on ; for I am as a weed, Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam to sail Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail.
Page 30 - Methinks I should know you and know this man; yet I am doubtful: for I am mainly ignorant what place this is, and all the skill I have remembers not these garments; nor I know not where I did lodge last night.
Page 54 - Art thou called being a servant '( care not for it : but if thou mayest be made free, use it rather.
Page 81 - Look on me! there is an order Of mortals on the earth, who do become Old in their youth, and die ere middle age, Without the violence of warlike death; Some perishing of pleasure— some of study— Some worn with toil, some of mere weariness,— Some of disease— and some insanity— And some of withered, or of broken hearts; For this last is a malady which slays More than are numbered in the lists of Fate, Taking all shapes, and bearing many names.
Page 73 - Sick — sick ; unfound the boon — unslaked the thirst, Though to the last, in verge of our decay, Some phantom lures, such as we sought at first — But all too late — so are we doubly curst. Love, fame, ambition, avarice — 'tis the same. Each idle— and all ill— and none the worst — For all are meteors with a different name, And Death the sable smoke where vanishes the flame.
Page 81 - gin to fear that thou art past all aid From me and from my calling; yet so young, I still would— Man. Look on me! there is an order Of mortals on the earth, who do become Old in their youth, and die ere middle age, Without the violence of warlike death...
Page 80 - tis but the same; My pang shall find a voice. From my youth upwards My spirit walk'd not with the souls of men, Nor look'd upon the earth with human eyes ; The thirst of their ambition was not mine, The aim of their existence was not mine ; My joys, my griefs, my passions, and my powers, Made me a stranger ; though I wore the form, I had no sympathy with breathing flesh, Nor midst the creatures of clay that girded me Was there but one who but of her anon.
Page 82 - Once more upon the waters ! yet once more ! And the waves bound beneath me as a steed That knows his rider.

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