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" All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. "
Masterpieces of American Literature: Franklin, Irving, Bryant, Webster ... - الصفحة 38
1891 - عدد الصفحات: 462
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The Poets of America, المجلد 1

John Keese - 1840 - عدد الصفحات: 304
...waste — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, THANATOPSIS. 77 The planets, all the infinite host of heaven* Are...the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce ; Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the...

The Remembrancer: Or, Fragments for Leisure Hours ...

Association for the Improvement of Juvenile Books - 1841 - عدد الصفحات: 250
...and melancholy waste, Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun. The planets, all the infinite host of heaven Are shining...the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon,...

Progressive Exercises in English Composition

Richard Green Parker - 1840 - عدد الصفحات: 136
...handful, and slumber, immediately suggest a figurative expression like that beautiful one of Bryant, " All that tread " The globe are but a handful to the tribes " That slumber in its bosom." The facility with which the pupil, after a little practice, with the aid of models and suggestions...

The General Baptist repository, and Missionary observer [afterw.] The ...

1877 - عدد الصفحات: 506
...and melancholy waste — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are...still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are hut a handful, to the tribes That slumber in its bosom." "Millions .... since first The flight of years...

The American Common-place Book of Poetry: With Occasional Notes

George Barrell Cheever - 1841 - عدد الصفحات: 422
...melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn* decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the slill lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom....

A System of Elocution: With Special Reference to Gesture, to the Treatment ...

Andrew Comstock - 1841 - عدد الصفحات: 410
...man,. | The golden sun,, | The planets, | all the infinite host of heav'n, | Are shining on the sac? , abodes" of death, | Through the still lapse of ages. | All that tread The glo&e , | are but , a hand,fulb | to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. | Take the wings Of morn'ing,...

The Poets and Poetry of America: With an Historical Introduction

Rufus Wilmot Griswold - 1842 - عدد الصفحات: 638
...waste,—, [all, Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, T.ie planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining...tribes That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings 'If 'linming. and the Barean desert pieree, Or lose thvsclf in the continuous woods Where rolls the...

Christian Examiner and Theological Review, المجلد 31

1842 - عدد الصفحات: 432
...countries, we may assume, that since men have lived on this earth, we shall at once see that — " all who tread The Globe, are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom." In the vicinity of Alexandria, of Cairo, and indeed of all the principal cities of Egypt, catacombs...

Readings in American Poetry

Rufus Wilmot Griswold - 1843 - عدد الصفحات: 278
...melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are...tribes That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon,...

The Poets and Poetry of America

Rufus Wilmot Griswold - 1843 - عدد الصفحات: 558
...melancholy waste,— [all, Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are...tribes That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon,...




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