Destiny; Or, The Chief's Daughter, Volumen2

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For R. Cadell, 1831 - 399 páginas
 

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Página 225 - How beautiful is night ! A dewy freshness fills the silent air, No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain, Breaks the serene of heaven : In full-orbed glory yonder moon divine Rolls through the dark blue depths.
Página 359 - A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear, A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief, Which finds no natural outlet, no relief, In word, or sigh, or tear— 0 Lady!
Página 359 - ... oblivion of it. For some months the cloud seemed to grow thicker and thicker. The lines in Coleridge's Dejection — I was not then acquainted with them — exactly describe my case: A grief without a pang, void, dark and drear, A drowsy, stifled, unimpassioned grief. Which finds no natural outlet or relief In word, or sigh, or tear.
Página 229 - And by ambitious longings undisturbed ; Men, whose delight is where their duty leads Or fixes them ; whose least distinguished day Shines with some portion of that heavenly lustre Which makes the Sabbath lovely in the sight Of blessed Angels, pitying human cares.
Página 230 - Europe's navies plough; — yes, in all lands From pole to pole, or civilized or rude, People there are, to whom the Sabbath morn Dawns, shedding dews into their drooping hearts: Yes, far beyond the high-heaved western wave, Amid Columbia's wildernesses vast, The words which God in thunder from the Mount Of Sinai spake, are heard, and are obey'd.
Página 311 - He was particularly gay in Avignon, for he felt better than he had done for a long time, and ordered a seat to be engaged for him in a vehicle going to Marseilles. The evening before their separation, he described with sparkling vivacity, the charms of the Ligurian coast, and spoke of the future as if he were sure of entire recovery and a long life. • In the night Ulrich heard him groaning...
Página 364 - ... son of Morni low? My heart is not of that rock; nor my soul careless as that sea; which lifts its blue waves to every wind, and rolls beneath the storm! The blast which shall lay thee low, shall spread the branches of Oithona on earth. We shall wither together, son of car-borne Morni! The narrow house is pleasant to me, and the grey stone of the dead, for never more will I leave thy rocks, O sea-surrounded Tromathon!
Página 59 - Holland Hae twinned my love and me. My love he built a bonny ship, And set her to the main, Wi' twenty-four brave mariners To sail her out and hame. But the weary wind began to rise, The sea began to rout, And my...
Página 219 - To be so near thee, and for ever parted ! For ever lost ! what art thou now to me ? Shall the departed gaze on thee again ? Shall I glide past thee in the midnight hour, Whilst thou perceiv'st it not, and thinkst perhaps Tis but the mournful breeze that passes by ? (Pauses again, and gazes at the...

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