Biography and Poetical Remains of the Late Margaret Miller DavidsonLea and Blanchard, 1842 - 359 pages |
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beam beautiful bloom Boabdil bosom breast breath bright brother brow bursting calm cast charms cheek cheerful child clouds cold dark Davidson dear mother death deep delight dread dream earth earthly Emily Erstein fade fair fair brow fancy fancy's father fear feel fled flowers frowning gaze gentle glance glowing grief hand happy hast hath heart heaven heavenly hope hour Lake Champlain Lenore light look love for love lyre Margaret MARGARET MILLER DAVIDSON Melanie mighty mind mingled Morna morning mourn neath never night o'er pain pale pallid crest pass'd Plattsburgh pleasure poetic pride pure rapture rest Rhine roll scene seem'd seemed seraph sigh sister smile soft sorrow soul sparkling spirit stamp'd stream sun decline sunbeam sweet sweetly tears thee thine Thou art thought trembling Twas Twill voice waves weep wild wings young youth
Popular passages
Page 127 - WHEN I can read my title clear To mansions in the skies, I bid farewell to every fear, And wipe my weeping eyes.
Page 47 - So dear to Heaven is saintly chastity, That, when a soul is found sincerely so, A thousand liveried angels lackey her, Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, And in clear dream, and solemn vision, Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear, Till oft converse with heavenly habitants Begin to cast a beam on the outward shape, The unpolluted temple of the mind, And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence, Till all be made immortal.
Page 293 - In Eastern lands they talk in flowers, And they tell in a garland their loves and cares ; Each blossom that blooms in their garden bowers, On its leaves a mystic language bears.
Page 25 - The little isles that deck thy breast, And calmly on thy bosom rest, How often, in my childish glee, I've sported round them, bright and free ! Could I but see thee once again, My own, my beautiful Champlain!
Page 143 - O Lord my God, thou art very great ; thou art clothed with honour and majesty. Who coverest thyself with light as with a garment: who stretchest out the heavens like a curtain...
Page 175 - By this means it had remained standing for several hundred years, in defiance of storms and earthquakes, while almost all other buildings of the Moors had fallen to ruin and disappeared. This spell, the tradition went on to say, would last until the hand on the outer arch should reach down and grasp the key, when the whole pile would tumble to pieces, and all the treasures buried beneath it by the Moors would be revealed.
Page 86 - Tis a joyous hour of mirth and love, And my heart is overflowing ! Come, let us raise our thoughts above, While pure, and fresh, and glowing. 'T is the happiest day of the rolling year, But it comes in a robe of mourning Nor light, nor life, nor bloom is here Its icy shroud adorning. It comes when all around is dark, 'Tis meet it so should be, For its joy is the joy of the happy heart, The spirit's jubilee.
Page 45 - I hovered upon the borders of the grave; and when I arose from this bed of pain, so feeble that I could not sustain my own weight, it was to witness the rupture of a blood-vessel in her lungs, caused by exertions to suppress a cough. Oh, it was agony to see her thus! I was compelled to conceal every appearance of alarm, lest the agitation of her mind should produce fatal consequences. As I seated myself by her, she raised her speaking eyes to mine with a mournful, inquiring gaze; and as she read...
Page 46 - ... for I considered these as moments of inspiration rather than sleep. She told me it was not sleep. I never knew but one, except Margaret, who enjoyed this delightful and mysterious source of happiness ; that one was her departed sister Lucretia. When awaking from these reveries, an almost ethereal light played about her eye, which seemed to irradiate her whole face. A holy calm pervaded her manner, and in truth she looked more like an angel who had been communing with kindred spirits in the world...
Page 94 - Yes, mother, fifty years have fled, With rapid footsteps, o'er thy head ; Have past with all their motley train, And left thee on thy couch of pain ! How many smiles and sighs and tears, How many hopes and doubts and fears Have vanished with that lapse of years.