The Token and Atlantic Souvenir: A Christmas and New Year's Present

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Samuel Griswold Goodrich, George Stillman Hilliard
Gray and Bowen, 1842 - English literature

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Page 60 - As for man, his days are as grass; as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth : For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone ; and the place thereof shall know it no more.
Page 108 - Her voice was ever soft, Gentle, and low, — an excellent thing in woman.
Page 107 - The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face.
Page 107 - ... ceased. He that at midnight, when the very labourer sleeps securely, should hear, as I have very often, the clear airs, the sweet descants, the natural rising and falling, the doubling and redoubling of her voice, might well be lifted above earth, and say, Lord, what music hast thou provided for the Saints in Heaven, when thou affordest bad men such music on Earth...
Page 107 - The silver key of the fountain of tears, Where the spirit drinks till the brain is wild ; Softest grave of a thousand fears, Where their mother, Care, like a drowsy child, Is laid asleep in flowers.
Page 108 - The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, And the free maids that weave their thread with bones, Do use to chant it ; it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age.
Page 101 - ... much in this point from one another. Now opium, by greatly increasing the activity of the mind, generally increases, of necessity, that particular mode of its activity by which we are able to construct out of the raw material of organic sound an elaborate intellectual pleasure.
Page 109 - Give me some music ; music, moody food Of us that trade in love.
Page 177 - And holds him by the shroud; And as she careens to the crowding breeze, The gaping deep the mariner sees, And the surging heareth loud. Was that a face, looking up at him, With its pallid cheek and its cold eyes dim? Did it beckon him down? did it call his name?
Page 298 - Alas! for them — their day is o'er, Their fires are out from hill and shore, No more for them the wild deer bounds. The plough is on their hunting grounds; The pale man's axe rings in their woods, The pale man's sail skims o'er their floods, Their pleasant springs are dry " ' I turn gladly to the progress of our civil history.

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