The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 11

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Atlantic Monthly Company, 1863 - American essays
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Page 534 - Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar?
Page 229 - God said, I am tired of kings, I suffer them no more ; Up to my ear the morning brings The outrage of the poor. Think ye I made this ball A field of havoc and war, Where tyrants great and tyrants small Might harry the weak and poor 1 My angel, — his name is Freedom, — • Choose him to be your king ; He shall cut pathways east and west, And fend you with his wing.
Page 705 - He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument.
Page 244 - Rachel weeping for her children, and refusing to be comforted, because they are not.
Page 100 - If there be some weaker one, Give me strength to help him on ; If a blinder soul there be, Let me guide him nearer Thee. Make my mortal dreams come true With the work I fain would do ; Clothe with life the weak intent, Let me be the thing I meant ; Let me find in Thy employ Peace that dearer is than joy ; Out of self to love be led And to heaven acclimated, Until all things sweet and good Seem my natural habitude.
Page 229 - My angel, — his name is Freedom, — Choose him to be your king; He shall cut pathways east and west And fend you with his wing. Lo ! I uncover the land Which I hid of old time in the West, As the sculptor uncovers the statue When he has wrought his best...
Page 538 - When I heard of the death of Coleridge, it was without grief. It seemed to me that he long had been on the confines of the next world, - that he had a hunger for eternity. I grieved then that I could not grieve. But since, I feel how great a part he was of me. His great and dear spirit haunts me. I cannot think a thought, I cannot make a criticism on men or books, without an ineffectual turning and reference to him. He was the proof and touchstone of all my cogitations.
Page 202 - There, — One, whose voice was venomed melody Sate by a well, under blue nightshade bowers ; The breath of her false mouth was like faint flowers, Her touch was as electric poison, — flame Out of her looks into my vitals came, And from her living cheeks and bosom flew A killing air, which pierced like honeydew Into the core of my green heart, and lay Upon its leaves; until, as hair grown gray O'er a young brow, they hid its unblown prime With ruins of unseasonable time.
Page 125 - African slavery as it exists among us, the proper status of the negro in our form of civilization. This was the immediate cause of the late rupture and present revolution. Jefferson, in his forecast, had anticipated this as the 'rock upon which the old union would split.
Page 500 - Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed Within thy beams, O Sun ? or who could find, Whilst fly and leaf and insect stood revealed, That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind ? Why do we then shun Death with anxious strife ? If Light can thus deceive, wherefore not Life ? " I would not slight this wondrous world.

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