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" The venerable woods; rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets,... "
The National Fifth Reader: Containing a Complete and Practical Treatise on ... - Page 126
by Richard Green Parker, James Madison Watson - 1866 - 600 pages
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The Inquirer, Volume 1

1822 - 764 pages
...Old Ocean's grey and melancholy waste, — • Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite...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...
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Specimens of the American Poets

1822 - 298 pages
...all, Old Ocean's grey and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite...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...
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The American First Class Book, Or, Exercises in Reading and Recitation

John Pierpont - 1823 - 492 pages
...infinite host of heaven, , Are ginning on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the...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 pages
...round Old ocean's grey and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite...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. So -l..ni thou...
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The Edinburgh Literary Journal: Or, Weekly Register of Criticism ..., Volume 2

1829 - 514 pages
...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...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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The Edinburgh Literary Journal: Or, Weekly Register of Criticism ..., Volume 2

1829 - 642 pages
...all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,— Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite...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...
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Kettell, Samuel: Specimens of American Poetry...

1829 - 436 pages
...all, Old ocean's grey and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite...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...
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Studies in Poetry: Embracing Notices of the Lives and Writings of the Best ...

George Barrell Cheever - 1830 - 516 pages
...all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite...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...
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The Foreign Quarterly Review, Volume 5; Volume 10

1832 - 604 pages
...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...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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The Foreign Quarterly Review, Volume 10

1832 - 598 pages
...all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man ! The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite...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...
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