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" There is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found, — They softly lie and sweetly sleep Low in the ground. "
The Lady's Magazine: Or Entertaining Companion for the Fair Sex ... - الصفحة 194
المحررون: - 1807
عرض كامل - لمحة عن هذا الكتاب

The Universal Magazine, المجلد 5

1806 - عدد الصفحات: 598
...No more disturbs their deep repose. Than summer evening's latest sigh. That shuts the rose. I long to lay this painful head And aching heart beneath...slumber in that dreamless bed From all my toil. For Misery stole meat my birth, And cast me helpless on the wild ; 1 perish; О my Mother Earth ! Take...

The Monthly Anthology, and Boston Review, المجلد 3

David Phineas Adams, William Emerson, Samuel Cooper Thacher - 1806 - عدد الصفحات: 788
...No mure disturbs their deep repose, Thaji summer evening's latest sigh, That shuts the rose. I long to lay this painful head And aching heart beneath...slumber in that dreamless bed From all my toil. For Misf ry stole me at my birth, And cast me helpless on the wild ; I perish ¡— — О my mother Earth...

The General Assembly's Missionary Magazine: Or Evangelical ..., المجلد 2

1806 - عدد الصفحات: 650
...skv more disturbs their ucep repose, " an summer evening's latest sigh That shuts the rose. I long to lay this painful head And aching heart beneath...slumber in that dreamless bed From all my toil. For Misery stole me at my birth, And cast me helpless on the wild: I perish; O my Mother Earth! Take home...

The Lady's Weekly Miscellany, المجلد 11

1810 - عدد الصفحات: 420
...No more disturbs their deep repose, Than summer evening's latest sigh, That shuts the rose. I long to lay this painful head And aching heart beneath...slumber in that dreamless bed, From all my toil. For Mit'ry stole me at my birth, And cast me hap less on the wild : I perish ! — Oh, my mother Earth...

The Monthly Anthology, and Boston Review, المجلد 3

Samuel Cooper Thacher, David Phineas Adams, William Emerson - 1806 - عدد الصفحات: 796
...No more disturbs their deep repose, Than sumnîtr evening's latest sigh, That shuts the rose. I long to lay this painful head And aching heart beneath the soil. To »lumber in that dreamless bed From all my toil. For Misery stole me at my birth, And casi, me helpless...

The Literary Magazine, and American Register, المجلد 8

1808 - عدد الصفحات: 356
...infamy deplore ; There yet is mercy ; — go thy way, I long to lay this painful head, And sin no more. And aching heart, beneath the soil, To slumber in that dreamless bed " Art thou a mourner ?— Hast thou From all my toil. known The joy of innocent delights ? For Mis'ry...

The Quarterly Review, المجلد 6

William Gifford, Sir John Taylor Coleridge, John Gibson Lockhart, Whitwell Elwin, William Macpherson, William Smith, Sir John Murray (IV), Rowland Edmund Prothero (Baron Ernle) - 1811 - عدد الصفحات: 622
...sky No more disturbs their deep repose, Than summer evening's latest sigh That shuts the rose. I long to lay this painful head And aching heart beneath...slumber in that dreamless bed From all my toil. For Misery stole me at my birth, And cast me helplcss on the wild : I perish ; O my Mother Earth ! Take...

The Wanderer of Switzerland, and Other Poems

James Montgomery - 1815 - عدد الصفحات: 186
...sky No more disturbs their deep repose, Than summer evening's latest sigh That shuts the rose. I long to lay this painful head And aching heart beneath...slumber in that dreamless bed . From all my toil. D For Misery stole me at my birth, And cast me helpless on the wild : I perish ; O my Mother Earth...

The Columbian Reader: Comprising a New and Various Selection of Elegant ...

Rodolphus Dickinson - 1815 - عدد الصفحات: 214
...No more disturbs their deep repose, Than summer evening's latest sigh, That shuts the rose. I long to lay this painful head And aching heart beneath the soil, To slumber in that dreamless b*d From all my toil. For misery stole me at my birth, And east me helpless on the wild ; I perish...

Poems on Different Subjects: Original and Selected

Elizabeth C. Jones - 1819 - عدد الصفحات: 60
...sigh, That shuts the rose. , * + m * . - m I long to lay this painful head, And aching heart bfueath the soil, To slumber in that dreamless bed, From all my toil» For tnis'ry stole me at my birth, Aflti cast me helpless on the wild, I perish ! — Oh ! my mother earth...




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