Friendship's Offering of Sentiment and Mirth

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1838

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Página 116 - These are the kings to whom the Prophecies in the Old Testament refer, " They shall go down to the grave with their weapons of war, though they were the terror of the mighty in the land of the living.
Página 1 - And then I dived, In my lone wanderings, to the caves of death, Searching its cause in its effect; and drew, From withered bones, and skulls, and heaped up dust, Conclusions most forbidden.
Página 253 - Now she hath favoured, doth favour, and will favour this jack-an-ape; — for what good part about him I know not, save that as one noble lady will love a messan dog, and another a screaming popinjay, and a third a Barbary ape, so doth it please our noble dame to set
Página 287 - passeth sleeplessly. Ye melancholy chambers ! I could shun The darkness of your silence, with such fear, As places where slow murder had been done. How many noble spirits have died here — Withering away in yearnings to aspire, Gnawed by mocked hope — devoured by their own fire
Página 66 - Like the Chaldean — he could watch the stars Till he had peopled them with beings, bright As their own beams
Página 119 - I OUGHT to be joyful, the jest and the song And the light tones of music resound through the throng; But its cadence falls dully and dead on my ear. And the laughter I mimic is quenched in a tear. For here are no longer, to
Página 116 - THEY laid the lord Of all the land Within his grave of pride; They set the sword Beside the hand That could not grasp, nor guide: They left, to soothe and share his rest Beneath the moveless mould, A lady, bright as those that live, But oh, how calm and cold!
Página 66 - Thy throne is darkness in the abyss of light — A blaze of glory that forbids the sight!
Página 117 - tread; But who can keep . A guard so true, As do the dark-eyed dead'! The foul hyenas howl and haunt About their charnel lair; The flickering rags of flesh, they flaunt, Within the plague-struck air. But still the
Página 117 - Whose haughty heart was still; Each stormy sound That wakes the west, Howls o'er that lonely hill. Underneath, an armed troop In stalwart order stay : Flank to flank they stand, nor stoop Their lances, day by day, Round the dim sepulchral cliff Horsemen fifty, fixed and stiff— Each with his bow, and each with his brand, With his bridle grasped in his steadfast hand.

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