Selections from the Writings of Mrs. Margaret M. Davidson, the Mother of Lucretia Maria and Margaret M. DavidsonLea & Blanchard, 1843 - 272 sider |
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Side 62
... brow was clouded with care , Louisa had a pretty story to read . Thus hand in hand , these two lovely , almost angelic little beings , watched over their almost idolizing mother . It would have warmed the heart of a stoic to have ...
... brow was clouded with care , Louisa had a pretty story to read . Thus hand in hand , these two lovely , almost angelic little beings , watched over their almost idolizing mother . It would have warmed the heart of a stoic to have ...
Side 65
... brow , a cold shivering seized her . There was some- thing awful , to the mind of this child , in the change which a few days had wrought in that loved visage ! Nothing disturbed him now ! -there he lay - senseless -almost motionless ...
... brow , a cold shivering seized her . There was some- thing awful , to the mind of this child , in the change which a few days had wrought in that loved visage ! Nothing disturbed him now ! -there he lay - senseless -almost motionless ...
Side 71
... brow , she trembled lest his small remains of strength should give way under this powerful struggle between nature and disease . Dr. A - threw himself upon a couch which had been prepared for the purpose , and now slept . Mrs. Stanley ...
... brow , she trembled lest his small remains of strength should give way under this powerful struggle between nature and disease . Dr. A - threw himself upon a couch which had been prepared for the purpose , and now slept . Mrs. Stanley ...
Side 73
... brow , the shut teeth , frequently grating upon each other , were displaced for slumbers as quiet and gentle as those of happy infancy . His brow was now placid and calm ; peace had stamped its impress there , and his own benign smile ...
... brow , the shut teeth , frequently grating upon each other , were displaced for slumbers as quiet and gentle as those of happy infancy . His brow was now placid and calm ; peace had stamped its impress there , and his own benign smile ...
Side 81
... brow , and she would tremble as if in an ague - fit . The kind Quakeress , at whose house Mrs. Stanley was now staying , had often told her that no emer- gency would induce her to leave home ; conceive then , the surprise of the poor ...
... brow , and she would tremble as if in an ague - fit . The kind Quakeress , at whose house Mrs. Stanley was now staying , had often told her that no emer- gency would induce her to leave home ; conceive then , the surprise of the poor ...
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arms art thou bards battle beam beautiful blessings blood bosom bound brave breast bright brow Cairbar Calmar Carril chief cloud Connal cried Cromla's Cuthullin dark daughter dear death echoing enemy Erin Erin's eyes fair fame father fear feast feeble fight Fillan Fingal flowing tears Gaul grief hall hand hast hath heart heaven hero's heroes hill Horace Walpole husband king king of swords Lena's heath light Lochlin's lonely Lord loud maid mamma Margaret mighty Morna morning Morven's mother mournful neath night noble o'er Orpah Oscar Ossian pale peace Peru plain Plattsburgh Polly pride raise replied rise roaring rock roll Ruth Ryno scene shield side silent song sons soul sound spear spirit Stanley Starno's storm stream Swaran sweet sword tears thee thine thou tomb trembling Tura's Ullin valiant voice Volumes wagons warriors WASHINGTON IRVING waves wind young youth
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Side 152 - Saviour, who is Christ the Lord ; And this shall be the sign : The heavenly Babe you there shall find To human view displayed, All meanly wrapt in swathing bands, And in a manger laid.
Side 256 - ... promise of never returning to Ireland, in a hostile manner. The night is spent in settling Swaran's departure, in songs of bards, and in a conversation in which the story of Grumal is introduced by Fingal, Morning comes. Swaran departs ; Fingal goes on a hunting party, and finding Cuthullin in the cave of Tura, comforts him, and sets sail, the next day, for Scotland ; which concludes the poem.
Side 230 - Raise, Oscar, rather raise my tomb. I will not yield the war to thee. The first and bloodiest in the strife, my arm shall teach thee how to fight. But remember, my son, to place this sword, this bow, the horn of my deer, within that dark and narrow house, whose mark is one grey stone ! Oscar, I have no love to leave to the care of my son.