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The National Preceptor: Or, Selections in Prose and Poetry
J. (Jesse) 1798-1872 Olney
No preview available - 2016
answered appeared arms army asked battle beauty began blood born called cause command cried dark dead death desire died earth enemy English entered eyes fall father fear fire gave give grave ground hand happy hast head hear heard heart heaven hill honor hope hour human Italy judge kind king land length LESSON live look lost master mean mind morning nature never night o'er object once passed pleasure poor present Pronounced received remained replied rest returned rich rise Roman seen side sleep smile soon soul speak spirit stand tell thee thing thou thought thousand took truth turned virtue voice whole wish young youth
Page 331 - Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms— the day Battle's magnificently stern array!
Page 281 - Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled that force must be called in to win back our love ? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir.
Page 300 - The stars shall fade away, the sun himself Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years, But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, Unhurt amidst the war of elements, The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.
Page 285 - No matter where; of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms and epitaphs; Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth...
Page 253 - Where slaves once more their native land behold, No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold. To be, contents his natural desire, He asks no angel's wing, no seraph's fire ; But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company.
Page 159 - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Page 298 - tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream; ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause: there's the respect...
Page 281 - Mr. President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those who having eyes see not, and having ears hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation?
Page 187 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow; But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.