The Port Folio, Volume 1

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Editor and Asbury Dickens, 1809 - Philadelphia (Pa.)
 

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Page 264 - My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man, that function Is smother'd in surmise ; and nothing is, But what is not.
Page 306 - Himself, as conscious of his awful charge, And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds May feel it too ; affectionate in look, And tender in address, as well becomes A messenger of grace to guilty men.
Page 238 - To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue) A curse shall light upon the limbs of men; Domestic fury and fierce civil strife Shall cumber all the parts of Italy...
Page 265 - O, now, for ever Farewell, the tranquil mind ! farewell, content ! Farewell, the plumed troop, and the big wars, That make ambition virtue ! O, farewell ! Farewell, the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, The royal banner ; and all quality, Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war...
Page 381 - My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For, lo, the winter is past, The rain is over and gone ; The flowers appear on the earth ; The time of the singing of birds is come, And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land ; The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, And the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
Page 262 - Tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspect, A broken voice, and his whole function suiting With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing! For Hecuba ! What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her?
Page 107 - Think, my lord ! By heaven, he echoes me, As if there were some monster in his thought Too hideous to be shown.
Page 256 - Nor will I quit thy shore A second time; for still I seem To love thee more and more.
Page 192 - That all persons living in this province who confess and acknowledge the one almighty and eternal God to be the creator, upholder, and ruler of the world...
Page 306 - Behold the picture ! — Is it like ? — Like whom ? The things that mount the rostrum with a skip, And then skip down again : pronounce a text, Cry, hem ! and, reading -what they never wrote Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work, And with a well-bred whisper close the scene.

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