The Western Monthly Review, Volume 1 |
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Page 737 - Twas Presbyterian true blue; For he was of that stubborn crew Of errant saints, whom all men grant To be the true Church Militant; Such as do build their faith upon The holy text of pike and gun; Decide all controversies by Infallible artillery; And prove their doctrine orthodox, By Apostolic blows and knocks...
Page 427 - No greater grief than to remember days Of joy, when misery is at hand. That kens Thy learn'd instructor. Yet so eagerly If thou art bent to know the primal root From whence our love gat being, I will do As one, who weeps and tells his tale. One day, For our delight, we read of Lancelot, How him love thrall'd.
Page 370 - The pilgrim spirit has not fled : It walks in noon's broad light ; And it watches the bed of the glorious dead, With the holy stars, by night. It watches the bed of the brave who have bled, And shall guard this ice-bound shore, Till the waves of the bay, where the May-Flower lay, Shall foam and freeze no more.
Page 369 - Pilgrim's sleep Still brood upon the tide; And his rocks yet keep their watch by the deep To stay its waves of pride. But the snow-white sail that he gave to the gale, When the heavens looked dark, is gone,— As an angel's wing through an opening cloud Is seen, and then withdrawn.
Page 502 - Behold, I come as a thief. Blessed is he that watcheth, and keepeth his garments, lest he walk naked, and they see his shame.
Page 427 - Alone we were, and no Suspicion near us. Ofttimes by that reading Our eyes were drawn together, and the hue Fled from our alter'd cheek.
Page 624 - La scène sur la terre n'était pas moins ravissante : le jour bleuâtre et velouté de la lune descendait dans les intervalles des arbres, et poussait des gerbes de lumière jusque dans l'épaisseur des plus profondes ténèbres. La rivière qui coulait à mes pieds tour à tour se perdait dans le bois, tour à tour reparaissait brillante des constellations de la nuit, qu'elle répétait dans son sein.
Page 736 - He'd undertake to prove, by force Of argument, a man's no horse ; He'd prove a buzzard is no fowl, And that a lord may be an owl ; A calf an alderman, a goose a justice, And rooks committee-men and trustees.
Page 624 - ... au loin, par intervalles, on entendait les sourds mugissements de la cataracte de Niagara qui, dans le calme de la nuit, se prolongeaient de désert en désert, et expiraient à travers les forêts solitaires.
Page 740 - quoth the lawyer, ' not to flatter ye, You have as good and fair a battery As heart can wish, and need not shame The proudest man alive to claim...