Biography and Poetical Remains of the Late Margaret Miller DavidsonLea and Blanchard, 1841 - 359 sider |
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Side 178
... neath his veil of blackness to gather the scattered thunderbolts in his hand , and to wreathe the winged lightnings on his brow . Again he came upon his wild career - on , on , in more terrific majesty ; the dark cloud parted with a ...
... neath his veil of blackness to gather the scattered thunderbolts in his hand , and to wreathe the winged lightnings on his brow . Again he came upon his wild career - on , on , in more terrific majesty ; the dark cloud parted with a ...
Side 186
... neath the myrtle's clustering shade , A sweetly - drooping lily grew . As the light zephyrs o'er them swept , And heighten'd many a rosy glow , A strange , deep murmur round them crept , Like distant music , wild and low . ' Twas the ...
... neath the myrtle's clustering shade , A sweetly - drooping lily grew . As the light zephyrs o'er them swept , And heighten'd many a rosy glow , A strange , deep murmur round them crept , Like distant music , wild and low . ' Twas the ...
Side 189
... neath nature's eye we'll rest , Cheer'd by her smile , and nurtured by her dew . " VERSIFICATION OF THE TWENTY - THIRD PSALM . 1831 . My shepherd is the faithful Lord , I shall not want , I trust his word ; He lays me down in pastures ...
... neath nature's eye we'll rest , Cheer'd by her smile , and nurtured by her dew . " VERSIFICATION OF THE TWENTY - THIRD PSALM . 1831 . My shepherd is the faithful Lord , I shall not want , I trust his word ; He lays me down in pastures ...
Side 207
... neath the hand of their God in his power . The smile on the cheek is transform'd to a tear , But repentance is lost in bewailing and fear . Oh , turn to your God , in this moment of dread , For mercy may rest ' neath the frown on his ...
... neath the hand of their God in his power . The smile on the cheek is transform'd to a tear , But repentance is lost in bewailing and fear . Oh , turn to your God , in this moment of dread , For mercy may rest ' neath the frown on his ...
Side 222
... A shapeless ruin , ' neath a frowning sky . Why should she last ? the monument of shame , Her legends disbelieved , degraded every name ! Her noblest chiefs reduced to toil , Her maidens left 222 MISS MARGARET DAVIDSON .
... A shapeless ruin , ' neath a frowning sky . Why should she last ? the monument of shame , Her legends disbelieved , degraded every name ! Her noblest chiefs reduced to toil , Her maidens left 222 MISS MARGARET DAVIDSON .
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Biography and Poetical Remains of the Late Margaret Miller Davidson Margaret Davidson Begrænset visning - 2024 |
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angel Ballston beam beautiful bloom Boabdil bosom breast breath bright brow burst calm cheek cheerful child clouds cold dark Davidson dear mother death deep delight dread dream Dutchess County earth earthly Emily Erstein fading fair fair brow fancy farewell father fear feel flowers gaze gentle glance glowing grief hand happy haste hath heart heaven heavenly Herman hope hour JOHN KEBLE Lake Champlain Lenore light look lyre Margaret MARGARET MILLER DAVIDSON Melanie mighty mind mingled Morna morning mourn ne'er neath never night o'er pain pale pass'd Plattsburgh pleasure poetic pride pure rapture rest Rhine Saranac scene seem'd seemed sigh silent sister sleep smile soft soothe sorrow soul sparkling spirit spring stream sweet sweetly tears tempest thee thine thou art thought tone trembling Twas Twill voice WASHINGTON IRVING waves weep wild wings young youth
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Side 145 - WHEN I can read my title clear To mansions in the skies, I bid farewell to every fear, And wipe my weeping eyes.
Side 57 - So dear to Heaven is saintly chastity, That, when a soul is found sincerely so, A thousand liveried angels lackey her, Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, And in clear dream, and solemn vision, Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear, Till oft converse with heavenly habitants Begin to cast a beam on the outward shape, The unpolluted temple of the mind, And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence, Till all be made immortal.
Side 34 - I've watch'd the fresh'ning shower Bending the summer tree and flower, And felt my little heart beat high As the bright rainbow graced the sky. Could I but see thee once again, My own, my beautiful Champlain! And shall I never see thee more, My native lake, my much-loved shore? And must I bid a long adieu, My dear, my infant home, to you? Shall I not see thee once again, My own, my beautiful Champlain?
Side 229 - By this means it had remained standing for several hundred years, in defiance of storms and earthquakes, while almost all other buildings of the Moors had fallen to ruin and disappeared. This spell, the tradition went on to say, would last until the hand on the outer arch should reach down and grasp the key, when the whole pile would tumble to pieces, and all the treasures buried beneath it by the Moors would be revealed.
Side 98 - Tis a joyous hour of mirth and love, And my heart is overflowing ! Come, let us raise our thoughts above, While pure, and fresh, and glowing. 'T is the happiest day of the rolling year, But it comes in a robe of mourning Nor light, nor life, nor bloom is here Its icy shroud adorning. It comes when all around is dark, 'Tis meet it so should be, For its joy is the joy of the happy heart, The spirit's jubilee.
Side 55 - I hovered upon the borders of the grave; and when I arose from this bed of pain, so feeble that I could not sustain my own weight, it was to witness the rupture of a blood-vessel in her lungs, caused by exertions to suppress a cough. Oh, it was agony to see her thus! I was compelled to conceal every appearance of alarm, lest the agitation of her mind should produce fatal consequences. As I seated myself by her, she raised her speaking eyes to mine with a mournful, inquiring gaze; and as she read...
Side 141 - By the soft cords of heavenly love, When the vain cares of earth depart, And tuneful voices swell my heart, Then shall each word, each note I raise, Burst forth in pealing hymns of praise, And all not offered at His shrine, Dear mother, I will place on thine.
Side 34 - Thy verdant banks, thy lucid stream, Lit by the sun's resplendent beam, Reflect each bending tree so light Upon thy bounding bosom bright. Could I but see thee once again, My own, my beautiful Champlain! The little isles that deck thy breast, And calmly on thy bosom rest, How often, in my childish glee, I've sported round them, bright and free! Could I but see thee once again, My own, my beautiful Champlain!
Side 293 - Yes, mother, fifty years have fled, With rapid footsteps, o'er thy head ; Have past with all their motley train, And left thee on thy couch of pain ! How many smiles and sighs and tears, How many hopes and doubts and fears Have vanished with that lapse of years.