Lawrie Todd [pseud.]: Or The Settlers in the Woods

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J. & J. Harper, 1830

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Página 150 - If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning. If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth; if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy.
Página 180 - O limed soul, that struggling to be free Art more engaged ! Help, angels ! make assay ! Bow, stubborn knees, and, heart with strings of steel, Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe ! All may be well.
Página 176 - ... the skirt of thy robe in my hand : for in that I cut off the skirt of thy robe, and killed thee not, know thou and see that there is neither evil nor transgression in mine hand, and I have not sinned against thee; yet thou huntest my soul to take it, The LORD judge between me and thee, and the LORD avenge me of thee : but mine hand shall not be upon thee.
Página 135 - Noblest of men, woo't die ? Hast thou no care of me ? shall I abide In this dull world, which in thy absence is No better than a sty ? O, see, my women, [Antony dies. The crown o
Página 90 - On the budding elms the birds are singing, And up — up — up to the gates of heaven Mounts the lark, on the wings of her rapture driven ; The voice of the streamlet is fresh and loud ; On the sky there is not a speck of cloud : Come hither, come hither, and join with me In the season's delightful jubilee...
Página 158 - ... that has been so long one of the principal ornaments of the metropolis, still stands a monument of dramatic munificence. There is something singularly ridiculous in making the playhouse a coadjutor of the church. It is subversive of all our established notions — accustomed to say with De Foe, ' " Where'er the Lord erects a house of prayer, The Devil's sure to build a chapel near.
Página 13 - Oh, gently on thy suppliant's head, Dread Goddess, lay thy chastening hand ! Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, Nor circled with the vengeful band (As by the impious thou art seen) With thundering voice, and threatening mien, With screaming Horror's funeral cry, Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty.
Página 16 - Hers is the real and uncentred poetry of being, which pervades and surrounds her as with an air, which peoples her visions and animates her love, which shrinks from earth into itself, and finds marvel and meditation in all that it beholds within, and which spreads even over the heaven in...
Página 82 - Among the farthest Hebrides. Will no one tell me what she sings ? — Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago : Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day ? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, or may be again...
Página 61 - Trifles light as air Are to the jealous confirmation strong As proof of holy writ.

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