The Monthly Anthology, and Boston Review, Volume 9

Front Cover
David Phineas Adams, Samuel Cooper Thacher
Munroe and Francis, 1810
vol. 3-4 include appendix: "The Political cabinet."
 

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Page 85 - Where throngs of knights and barons bold, In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold, With store of ladies, whose bright eyes Rain influence, and judge the prize Of wit or arms, while both contend To win her grace whom all commend.
Page 84 - Till the dappled dawn doth rise; Then to come in spite of sorrow, And at my window bid good-morrow, Through the sweetbriar or the vine Or the twisted eglantine. While the cock, with lively din, Scatters the rear of darkness thin, And to the stack or the barn door Stoutly struts his dames before...
Page 85 - When, in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn That ten day-labourers could not end ;Then lies him down the lubber fiend. And, stretch'd out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength ; And, crop-full, out of doors he flings, Ere the first cock his matin rings.
Page 111 - The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the falling together; and a little child shall lead them.
Page 86 - And if I give thee honour due, Mirth, admit me of thy crew, To live with her and live with thee, In unreproved pleasures free...
Page 287 - I thank God there are no free schools, nor printing, and I hope we shall not have these hundred years ; for learning has brought disobedience and heresy and sects into the world, and printing has divulged them, and libels against the best government. God keep us from both...
Page 322 - For others good, or melt at others woe. What can atone (oh ever-injur'd shade !) Thy fate unpity'd, and thy rites unpaid ? No friend's complaint, no kind domestic tear Pleas'd thy pale ghost, or grac'd thy mournful bier : By foreign hands thy dying eyes were clos'd, By foreign hands thy decent limbs compos'd, By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd, By strangers honour'd, and by strangers mourn'd! What tho' no friends in sable weeds appear.
Page 84 - And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale. Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures Whilst the landscape round it measures ; Russet lawns, and fallows gray, Where the nibbling flocks do stray ; Mountains, on whose barren breast The labouring clouds do often rest; Meadows trim with daisies pied, Shallow brooks, and rivers wide ; Towers and battlements it sees Bosomed high in tufted trees, Where perhaps some Beauty lies, The cynosure of neighbouring eyes.
Page 80 - HENCE, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born In Stygian cave forlorn, 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy ! Find out some uncouth cell Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings And the night-raven sings ; There under ebon shades, and low-browed rocks As ragged as thy locks, In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
Page 309 - And that which casts our proficiency therein so much behind is our time lost partly in too oft idle vacancies given both to schools and universities; partly in a preposterous exaction, forcing the empty wits of children to compose themes, verses, and orations, which are the acts of ripest judgment and the final work of a head filled by long reading and observing with elegant maxims and copious invention.

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