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Achilles Tatius ancient Aristippus Aristotle Aspasia bard beam beautiful beneath Bermuda blessed blest bliss bloom blush bosom bowers breast breath breath'd breeze bright brow burning charm cheek Cicero Cleombrotus clime dear Dismal Swamp Dithyrambic divine dream earth Epicurean Epicurus Eunapius Euripid fair fancy fancy's feel felt fire flame flowers glow grace hath heart heaven heavenly heptachord Heraclitus hour hung isles kiss Lake lamp languid light lip's look look'd lov'd lovers lyre magic maid mingle morning murmurs ne'er never night nymph o'er Ovid Pausanias philosophers Pindar Plato play'd Plutarch pure Pythagoras rosy round roves says seem'd shade shed sigh sigh'd sleep smile soft song soul spirit spring steal Stoics stole sweet sweetly tear tell thee thine thou thought thrill Twas vermil warm wave weep wind wing
Page 305 - FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The rapids are near and the daylight's past.
Page 310 - In one vast volume down Niagara's steep, Or calm behold them, in transparent sleep, Where the blue hills of old Toronto shed Their evening shadows o'er Ontario's bed...
Page 307 - There is not a breath the blue wave to curl, But, when the wind blows off the shore, Oh, sweetly we'll rest our weary oar. Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, The rapids are near and the daylight's past.
Page 178 - I must decline, as inapplicable to myself, any share in the personal emoluments which may be indispensably included in a permanent provision for the executive department...
Page 70 - My lips have breath'd you many a lie ; And who, with such delights in view, Would lose them, for a lie or two ? Nay, — look not thus, with brow reproving; Lies are, my dear, the soul of loving. If half we tell the girls were true, If half we swear to think and do, Were aught but lying's bright illusion, This world would be in strange confusion. If ladies...
Page 39 - They made her a grave, too cold and damp For a soul so warm and true ; And she's gone to the lake of the Dismal Swamp, Where, all night long, by a firefly lamp, She paddles her white canoe. " And her firefly lamp I soon shall see, And her paddle I soon shall hear ; Long and loving our life shall be, And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree, When the footstep of Death is near...
Page 40 - And the boat return'd no more. But oft, from the Indian hunter's camp, This lover and maid so true Are seen at the hour of midnight damp. To cross the Lake by a fire-fly lamp, And paddle their white canoe ! TO THE MARCHIONESS DOWAGER OF DONEGALL.
Page 210 - The weary statesman for repose hath fled From halls of council to his negro's shed, Where blest he woos some black Aspasia's grace. And dreams of freedom in his slave's embrace...
Page 4 - Pursues the murmurers of the deep, And lights them with consoling gleam, And smiles them into tranquil sleep ! Oh ! such a blessed night as this, I often think, if friends were near, How we should feel, and gaze with bliss Upon the moon-bright scenery here! The sea is like a silvery lake, And, o'er its calm the vessel glides Gently, as if it feared to wake The slumber of the silent tides...