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Pagina 364 - Near this spot Are deposited the Remains Of one Who Possessed Beauty Without Vanity, Strength without Insolence, Courage without Ferocity, And all the Virtues of Man Without his Vices. This Praise, which would be unmeaning flattery If inscribed over Human Ashes, Is but a just tribute to the Memory of "Boatswain," a Dog Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803, And died at Newstead Abbey Nov. 18, 1808.
Pagina 366 - O'er mountain, tower, and town, Or mirror'd in the ocean vast, A thousand fathoms down ! As fresh in yon horizon dark, As young thy beauties seem, As when the eagle from the ark First sported in thy beam. For, faithful to its sacred page, Heaven still rebuilds thy span, Nor lets the type grow pale with age That first spoke peace to man.
Pagina 368 - AY — down to the dust with them, slaves as they are, From this hour, let the blood in their dastardly veins, That shrunk at the first touch of Liberty's war, Be wasted for tyrants, or stagnate in chains.
Pagina 342 - ... composure, which characterizes the landscape of a cultivated country ; it was the deathlike stillness of the most dreary desolation, and the total absence of animated existence. Such, indeed, was the want of objects to afford relief to the eye, or amusement to the mind, that a stone of more than usual size appearing above the snow, in the direction...
Pagina 364 - By nature vile, ennobled but by name, Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. Ye ! who perchance behold this simple urn, Pass on— it honours none you wish to mourn : To mark a friend's remains these stones arise ; I never knew but one, — and here he lies.
Pagina 353 - ... sight, impressed me with horror. The blackness of the wall ; the faint light given by the candles or torches for want of air; the different objects that surrounded me seeming to converse with each other ; and the Arabs with the candles or torches in their hands, naked and covered with dust, themselves resembling living mummies, — absolutely formed a scene that cannot be described.
Pagina 365 - And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams, But words of the Most High, Have told why first thy robe of beams Was woven in the sky. When o'er the green undeluged earth, Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, How came the world's gray fathers forth To watch thy sacred sign ! And when its yellow lustre smiled O'er mountains yet untrod, Each mother held aloft her child To bless the bow of God.
Pagina 368 - Let their fate be a mock-word — let men of all lands Laugh out, with a scorn that shall ring to the poles, When each sword that the cowards let fall from their hands Shall be forged into fetters to enter their souls ! And deep and more deep as the iron is driven, Base slaves! may the whet of their agony be, To think — as the damned haply think of that heaven They had once in their reach — that they might have been free!