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Page 78 - Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, That mak'st my blood cold and my hair to stare ? Speak to me what thou art.
Page 22 - I come, I come ! ye have called me long, I come o'er the mountains with light and song ; Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth, By the winds which tell of the violet's birth, By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass, By the green leaves opening as I pass.
Page 62 - But she was a soft landscape of mild earth, Where all was harmony, and calm, and quiet, Luxuriant, budding ; cheerful without mirth, Which, if not happiness, is much more nigh it Than are your mighty passions and so forth, Which some call
Page 267 - What is here? Who has done this?" he broke out, after contemplating it in speechless astonishment for an instant. "Here is the divine, the life-giving touch! What inspired hand is beckoning this wood to arise and live? Whose work is this?" "No man's work," replied Drowne. "The figure lies within that block of oak, and it is my business to find it.
Page 298 - Still as you rise, the state exalted too Finds no distemper while 'tis changed by you: Changed like the world's great scene, when without noise The rising sun night's vulgar lights destroys.
Page 298 - Trembles to think she did your foes obey. Great Britain, like blind Polypheme, of late, In a wild rage became the scorn and hate ' Of her proud neighbours, who began to think She with the weight of her own force would sink. But you are come, and all their hopes are vain ; This giant Isle has got her eye again.
Page 41 - Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes From betwixt two aged oaks, Where Corydon and Thyrsis met, Are at their savoury dinner set Of herbs, and other country messes...
Page 117 - He is made one with Nature: There is heard His voice in all her music, from the moan Of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird. He is a presence to be felt and known In darkness and in light, from herb and stone, Spreading itself where'er that Power may move Which has withdrawn his being to its own...
Page 270 - Yet who can doubt, that the very highest state to which a human spirit can attain, in its loftiest aspirations, is its truest and most natural state...
Page 270 - And forthwith he employed himself on the stolid countenance of one of his wooden progeny, and completed it in his own mechanical style, from which he was never known afterwards to deviate. He followed his business industriously for many years, acquired a competence, and, in the latter part of his life, attained to a dignified station in the church, being remembered in records and traditions as Deacon Drowne, the carver. One of his productions, an Indian chief, gilded all over, stood during the better...