The Last of His Family

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G. W. Gorton, 1848 - 280 страница

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Страница 220 - Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales, Her heathy moors and winding vales ; The scenes where wretched fancy roves, Pursuing past, unhappy loves! Farewell, my friends ! Farewell, my foes! My peace with these, my love with those— The bursting tears my heart declare, Farewell the bonnie banks of Ayr ! SONG.
Страница 119 - Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours ; And ask them, what report they bore to heaven : And how they might have borne more welcome news.
Страница 225 - In his narrative, he had insinuated that the glory of having first discovered the New World, belonged to him. This was in part believed, and the country began to be called after the name of its supposed first discoverer. The unaccountable caprice of mankind has perpetuated the error ; so that now, by the universal consent of all nations, this new quarter of the globe is called AMERICA." — DR. MORSE. Note 23, page 186. This was written in reply to a poem by " AEM" entitled "The Voice of Friendship...
Страница 22 - The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds. What means this heaviness that hangs upon me ? This lethargy that creeps through all my senses? Nature oppress'd, and harass'd out with care, Sinks down to rest.
Страница 190 - twill pierce thee to the heart — A broken reed at best, but oft a spear, On whose sharp point Peace bleeds, and Hope expires.
Страница 38 - His hand will smooth my rugged way, And lead me to the realms of day ; To milder skies and brighter plains, Where everlasting pleasure reigns.
Страница 183 - Now launch the boat upon the wave ; The wind is blowing off the shore. I will not live, a cowering slave, In these polluted islands more ; Beyond the wild, dark-heaving sea There is a better home for me.
Страница 75 - it is God That worketh in you, both to will and do.
Страница 148 - I have seen his ways,* and will heal him ; I will lead him also and restore comforts to him and to his mourners.
Страница 184 - Oh ! woman's heart is like the rose, That glows beneath the tropic's flame, That blooms as sweet 'mid northern snows, For ever lovely — and the same. Whate'er her rank — whate'er her lot, Where'er her gentle influence ranges, The art to bless is ne'er forgot, The will to comfort never changes.

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