The rhetorical speaker and poetical class book

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1833 - 120 pages
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Page 4 - Rejoice, 0 young man, in thy youth, and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes: but know thou that for all these things God will bring thee into judgment.
Page 178 - waves play— Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow— Such as Creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now ! Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests !—in all time— Calm or convulsed, in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clirne
Page 241 - rock, And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. Yet not to thy eternal resting place Shalt thou retire alone—nor could'st thou wish Couch more magnificent: Thou shall lie down The powerful of
Page 11 - This is the state of man ; to day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honors thick upon him ; The third day comes a frost, a killing frost; And when, be thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is
Page 159 - kings. Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made, With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field. And plant fresh laurels where they kill; But their strong nerves at last must yield,
Page 22 - If shape it might be call'd that shape had none, Distinguishable in member, joint or limb, Or substance might be call'd that shadow seem'd, For each seem'd either; black it stood as night, Fierce as ten Furies, terrible as Hell, And shook a dreadful dart.
Page 242 - round all In majesty, and the complaining brooks Old Ocean's grey and melancholy waste,— Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread Are shining on the sad abodes of death, The globe, are but
Page 30 - Tis true, this god did shake ; His coward lips did from their colour fly, And that same eye, whose bend does awe the world, Did lose its lustre : I did hear him groan ; Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, Alas ! it cried — Give
Page 159 - And must give up their murmuring breath, When they pale captives creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow, They tame but one another still. Early or late They stoop to fate, Then boast no more your mighty deeds, Upon death's purple altar now, See where the victor victim bleeds.
Page 60 - At midnight, in his guarded tent, The Turk was dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, Should tremble at his power ; In dreams, thro' camp and court he bore The trophies of a conqueror ; In dreams his song of triumph heard, Then wore that monarch's signet ring, Then

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