The Rhode-Island Literary Repository, Volume 1

Front Cover
Isaac Bailey
Robinson and Howland, 1814
 

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Page 64 - He who hath bent him o'er the dead Ere the first day of death is fled, The first dark day of nothingness, The last of danger and distress...
Page 130 - Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace Our parting was fu' tender ; And pledging aft to meet again, We tore oursels asunder ; But, Oh ! fell Death's untimely frost, That nipt my flower sae early ! Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, That wraps my Highland Mary...
Page 130 - O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasp'd her to my bosom ! The golden hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my dearie ; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace Our parting was fu...
Page 136 - For, like as we are compelled by the Christian verity to acknowledge every Person by Himself to be God and Lord, so are we forbidden by the Catholic Religion to say, there be Three Gods or Three Lords.
Page 212 - Yet in the whole — who paused to look again, Saw more than marks the crowd of vulgar men — They gaze and marvel how — and still confess That thus it is, but why they cannot guess.
Page 153 - The sting she nourished for her foes, Whose venom never yet was vain, Gives but one pang, and cures all pain, And darts into her desperate brain...
Page 239 - ... when dead. If, however, we consider even the prejudiced anecdotes furnished us by his enemies, we may perceive in them traces of amiable and lofty character sufficient to awaken sympathy for his fate, and respect for his memory. We find that, amidst all the harassing cares and ferocious passions of constant warfare, he was alive to the softer feelings of connubial love and paternal tenderness, and to the generous sentiment of friendship. The captivity of his "beloved wife and only son...
Page 415 - And if ye lend to them of whom ye hope to receive, what thank have ye? for sinners also lend to sinners, to receive as much again.
Page 272 - Who bow'd so low the knee ? By gazing on thyself grown blind, Thou taught'st the rest to see. With might unquestion'd, • — power to save, Thine only gift hath been the grave, To those that worshipp'd thee; Nor till thy fall could mortals guess Ambition's less than littleness!
Page 274 - All Evil Spirit as thou art, It is enough to grieve the heart To see thine own unstrung; To think that God's fair world hath been The footstool of a thing so mean!

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