The North and South, Or, Slavery and Its Contrasts: A Tale of Real Life

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Crissy & Markley, 1852 - 350 pàgines
 

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Pàgina 188 - A prison is a house of care. A place where none can thrive, A touchstone true to try a friend, A grave for one alive. Sometimes a place of right. Sometimes a place of wrong, Sometimes a place of rogues and thieves, And honest men among. INSCRIPTION ON EDINBURGH TOLBOOTH.
Pàgina 259 - I am one, my liege, Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world Have so incensed that I am reckless what I do to spite the world.
Pàgina 234 - As wretches, that are doubtful of hereafter, Part with their lives, unwilling, loth, and fearful, And trembling at futurity. But is there nothing, No small return that honour can afford, For all this waste of love ? Sel.
Pàgina 177 - Moll. Your love comes too late, Yet timely thanks reward it. What is comfort, When the poor patient's heart is past relief? It is no doctor's art can cure my grief.
Pàgina 177 - Capricious, wanton, bold, and brutal, lust " Is meanly selfish, when resisted cruel, " And like the blast of pestilential winds
Pàgina 43 - Hath had n' occasion nor no field to try The strength and forces of his worthiness : Those parts of judgment which felicity Keeps as conceal'd, affliction must express ; And only men shew their abilities, And what they are, in their extremities.
Pàgina 61 - It is a barb'rous grossness, to lay on The weight of scorn, where heavy misery Too much already weighs men's fortunes down.
Pàgina 25 - Thy homeward step to greet. Thou, in whose voice, to bless thy child, Lay tones of love so deep, Whose eye o'er all my youth hath smiled — I leave thee ! let me weep ! Mother ! I leave thee ! on thy breast, Pouring out joy and woe ; I have found that holy place of rest Still changeless — yet I go ! Lips, that have lulled me with your strain, Eyes, that have watched my sleep ! Will earth give love like yours again ? — Sweet mother ! let me weep...
Pàgina 25 - I leave thee, father ! Eve's bright moon Must now light other feet, With the gathered grapes, and the lyre in tune, Thy homeward step to greet. Thou in whose voice, to bless thy child, Lay tones of love so deep, Whose eye o'er all my youth hath smiled— I leave thee ! let me weep ! Mother ! I leave thee ! On thy breast Pouring out joy and woe, I have found that holy place of rest Still changeless—yet I go ! Lips, that have lulled me with your strain...
Pàgina 118 - Box never rises higher than three feet. It is used to divide beds from the walks of flowergardens. CONSTANCY. Though youth be past, and beauty fled, The constant heart its pledge redeems, Like Box, that guards the flowerless bed, And brighter from the contrast seems.

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