Up the River

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C. Scribner, 1853 - 335 pages

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Page 119 - son was dead and is alive again ; was lost and is
Page 49 - SWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night, For thou must die. Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And...
Page 312 - HAPPY the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air, In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire ; Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire.
Page 329 - ... as the place affords. And because the breath of flowers is far sweeter in the air, where it comes and goes like the warbling of music, than in the hand, therefore nothing is more fit for that delight than to know what be the flowers and plants that do best perfume the air. Roses, damask and red, are fast flowers of their smells; so that you may walk by a whole row of them, and find nothing of their sweetness, yea, though it be in a morning's dew.
Page 288 - He drains the pump, from him the faggot burns; From him the noisy Hogs demand their food; While at his heels run many a chirping brood, Or down his path in expectation stand, With equal claims upon his strewing hand. Thus wastes the morn, till each with pleasure sees The bustle o'er, and press'd the new-made cheese.
Page 288 - Whose hat with tatter'd brim, of nap so bare, From the cow's side purloins a coat of hair, A mottled ensign of his harmless trade, An unambitious, peaceable cockade.
Page 328 - ... a green in the entrance, a heath, or desert, in the going forth, and the main garden in the midst, besides alleys on both sides; and, I like well, that four acres of ground be assigned to the green, six to the heath, four and four to either side, and twelve to the main garden.
Page 288 - Echo answer'd from her close retreat; The sporting White-throat on some twig's end borne, Pour'd hymns to freedom and the rising morn ; Stopt in her song perchance the starting Thrush Shook a white shower from the black-thorn bush, Where dew-drops thick as early blossoms hung, And trembled as the minstrel sweetly sung.
Page 288 - midst her milk and cream, Bawls out, "Go fetch the Cows!
Page xxii - O, how canst thou renounce the boundless store Of charms which Nature to her votary yields ! The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields ; All that the genial ray of morning gilds, » And all that echoes to the song of even, All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields, And all the dread magnificence of Heaven, O, how canst thou renounce^ and hope to be forgiven ! These charms shall work thy soul's eternal health, And love, and gentleness, and joy,...

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