The Writings of John Greenleaf Whittier: Old portraits and modern sketches ; Historical papers, etc

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Houghton Mifflin, 1889
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Page 93 - What wondrous life is this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head; The luscious clusters of the vine Upon my mouth do crush their wine; The nectarine and curious peach Into my hands themselves do reach; Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
Page 98 - So much one man can do That does both act and know. They can affirm his praises best, And have, though overcome...
Page 184 - Power at thee has launched His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee; They could not quench the life thou hast from Heaven. Merciless power has dug thy dungeon deep, And his swart armorers, by a thousand fires, Have forged thy chain...
Page 198 - A day, an hour, of virtuous liberty, Is worth a whole eternity in bondage.
Page 97 - Tis madness to resist or blame The force of angry heaven's flame ; And if we would speak true, Much to the man is due, Who from his private gardens, where He lived reserved and austere, As if his highest plot To plant the bergamot, Could by industrious valour climb To ruin the great work of Time, And cast the kingdoms old, Into another mould.
Page 32 - This black den which rocks emboss, Overgrown with eldest moss: The rude portals that give light More to terror than delight; This my chamber of neglect, Walled about with disrespect. From all these, and this dull air, A fit object for despair, She hath taught me by her might To draw comfort and delight.
Page 30 - I am somewhat too fond of these great mercies, but also because I should have often brought to my mind the many hardships, miseries, and wants, that my poor family was like to meet with, should I be taken from them, especially my poor blind child, who lay nearer my heart than all beside. Oh ! the thoughts of the hardship I thought my poor blind one might go under, would break my heart to pieces.
Page 30 - Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve them alive; and let thy widows trust in me.
Page 97 - Tis time to leave the books in dust, And oil the unused armour's rust, Removing from the wall The corslet of the hall. So restless Cromwell could not cease In the inglorious arts of peace, But through adventurous war Urged his active star : And like the three-forked lightning, first Breaking the clouds where it was nurst, Did thorough his own side His fiery way divide...
Page 99 - Republic's hand: How fit he is to sway That can so well obey. He to the Commons...

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