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" The venerable woods; rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets,... "
The National Fifth Reader: Containing a Complete and Practical Treatise on ... - Стр. 126
авторы: Richard Green Parker, James Madison Watson - 1866 - Страниц: 600
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The Inquirer, Том 1

1822 - Страниц: 764
...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...abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe, are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings...
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Specimens of the American Poets

1822 - Страниц: 298
...all, 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...abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe, are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings...
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The American First Class Book, Or, Exercises in Reading and Recitation

John Pierpont - 1823 - Страниц: 492
...infinite host of heaven, , Are ginning on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the...lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound, 22 * 2S8 THE AMERICAN (Lew<ra 11T. Save his own dashings — yet — the...
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The United States Literary Gazette, Том 1

1825 - Страниц: 426
...round 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...abodes of death. Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. So -l..ni thou...
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The Edinburgh Literary Journal: Or, Weekly Register of Criticism and ..., Том 2

1829 - Страниц: 514
...infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death Through the still lapse of ages— all that tread The globe are but a handful to the...and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the contiguous woods, Where rolls the Oregnn, and hears no sound Save his own dashings — yet the dead...
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The Edinburgh Literary Journal: Or, Weekly Register of Criticism and ..., Том 2

1829 - Страниц: 642
...all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,— Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite...sad abodes of death Through the still lapse of ages — all that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings...
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Kettell, Samuel: Specimens of American Poetry...

1829 - Страниц: 436
...all, 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...abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings...
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Studies in Poetry: Embracing Notices of the Lives and Writings of the Best ...

George Barrell Cheever - 1830 - Страниц: 516
...all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite...abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings...
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The Foreign Quarterly Review, Том 5;Том 10

1832 - Страниц: 604
...the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the...lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began,...
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The Foreign Quarterly Review, Том 10

1832 - Страниц: 598
...all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man ! The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite...sad abodes of death Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings...
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