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" The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom — Take the wings Of morning —... "
Songs of Three Centuries - Página 184
editado por - 1890 - 383 páginas
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Specimens of the American Poets

1822 - 298 páginas
...and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green — and, poured round all, Old Ocean's grey and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations...lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound Save his -own dashings — yet, the dead are there, And millions in those...
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The Inquirer, Volume 1

1822 - 764 páginas
...and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green — and, poured round all, Old Ocean's grey and melancholy waste, — • Are but the solemn decorations...lose thyself in the continuous .woods Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound Save his own dashings — yet, the dead are there, And millions in those...
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The American First Class Book, Or, Exercises in Reading and Recitation

John Pierpont - 1823 - 492 páginas
...the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, , Are ginning on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse...lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound, 22 * 2S8 THE AMERICAN (Lew<ra 11T. Save his own dashings — yet — the...
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The United States Literary Gazette, Volume 1

1825 - 426 páginas
...majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green ; and poured round Old ocean's grey and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations...a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. So -l..ni thou rest — and what if thou shall fall Unnoticed by the living — and no friend Take...
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Kettell, Samuel: Specimens of American Poetry...

1829 - 436 páginas
...majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green ; and pour'd round all, Old ocean's grey and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations...lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound, Save his own dashings— yet— the dead are there, And millions hi those...
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The Edinburgh Literary Journal: Or, Weekly Register of Criticism ..., Volume 2

1829 - 642 páginas
...rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green — and, pour'd round all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,—...and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the contiguous woods, Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound Save his own dash ings — yet the dead...
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The Edinburgh Literary Journal: Or, Weekly Register of Criticism ..., Volume 2

1829 - 514 páginas
...melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden tun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are...and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the contiguous woods, Where rolls the Oregnn, and hears no sound Save his own dashings — yet the dead...
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Sermons, Volume 1

Cornelius Roosevelt Duffie - 1829 - 444 páginas
...have vanished away. " This earth and ocean, all, Are the great tomb of man ; And all the planetary host of heaven Are shining on the sad abodes of death,...a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. ——Millions — since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep."...
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Studies in Poetry: Embracing Notices of the Lives and Writings of the Best ...

George Barrell Cheever - 1830 - 516 páginas
...— rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green ; and pour'd round all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,...lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound, Save his own dashings — yet — the dead are there, And millions in those...
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The Foreign Quarterly Review, Volume 5;Volume 10

1832 - 604 páginas
...and pierce thy mould ; Yet not to thy eternal resting-place Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst tbou wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down With...lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began,...
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