Mary Seaham

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T.B. Peterson & Bros. - 211 pages
 

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Page 27 - Therefore, the poet Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods ; Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage, But music for the time doth change his nature. The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils ; The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And his affections dark as Erebus. Let no such man be trusted.
Page 202 - And Esau ran to meet him, and embraced him, and fell on his neck, and kissed him : and they wept.
Page 147 - ... the look Which is not of the earth; she was become The queen of a fantastic realm; her thoughts Were combinations of disjointed things; And forms impalpable and unperceived Of others
Page 28 - And Jacob went near unto Isaac his father; and he felt him, and said, The voice is Jacob's voice, but the hands are the hands of Esau.
Page 143 - tis youth's frenzy— but the cure Is bitterer still, as charm by charm unwinds Which robed our idols, and we see too sure Nor Worth nor Beauty dwells from out the mind's Ideal shape of such ; yet still it binds — The fatal spell, and still it draws us on...
Page 154 - I how great she be ? Great, or good, or kind, or fair, I will ne'er the more despair: If she love me, this believe, I will die ere she shall grieve : If she slight me when I woo, I can scorn and let her go ; For if she be not for me, What care I for whom she be ? George Wither.
Page 89 - Delight thou in the Lord, and he shall give thee thy heart's desire. Commit thy way unto the Lord, and put thy trust in him, and he shall bring it to pass.
Page 154 - Be she meeker, kinder, than fhe turtle-dove or pelican : If she be not so to me, What care I how kind she be? Shall a woman's virtues move Me to perish for her love? Or, her well-deservings known, Make me quite forget mine own? Be she with that goodness blest Which may merit name of Best; If she be not such to me, What care I how good she be?
Page 48 - merrier days,' not the 'pleasant days of hope,' not 'those wanderings with a fair hair'd maid,' which I have so often and so feelingly regretted, but the days, Coleridge, of a mother's fondness for her school-boy. What would I give to call her back to earth for one day, on my knees to ask her pardon for all those little asperities of temper which, from time
Page 116 - I saw the dungeon walls and floor Close slowly round me as before, I saw the glimmer of the sun Creeping as it before had done, But through the crevice where it came...

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