The North American Review, Band 109

Cover
Jared Sparks, Edward Everett, James Russell Lowell, Henry Cabot Lodge
O. Everett, 1869
Vols. 227-230, no. 2 include: Stuff and nonsense, v. 5-6, no. 8, Jan. 1929-Aug. 1930.
 

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Beliebte Passagen

Seite 576 - Myself when young did eagerly frequent Doctor and Saint, and heard great argument About it and about : but evermore Came out by the same door where in I went...
Seite 576 - They say the Lion and the Lizard keep The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep: And Bahram, that great Hunter — the Wild Ass Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.
Seite 576 - Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, Before we too into the Dust descend; Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and — sans End! Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare, And those that after some TO-MORROW stare, A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries, "Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There.
Seite 581 - Yet Ah, that Spring should vanish with the Rose ! That Youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close! The Nightingale that in the branches sang, Ah whence, and whither flown again, who knows...
Seite 577 - There was the Door to which I found no Key; There was the Veil through which I could not see: Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee There was — and then no more of Thee and Me.
Seite 579 - The Moving Finger writes ; and, having writ, Moves on : nor all your Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.
Seite 569 - There is nothing better for a man, than that he should eat and drink, and that he should make his soul enjoy good in his labour.
Seite 578 - And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press, End in what All begins and ends in — Yes; Think then you are TO-DAY what YESTERDAY You were — TO-MORROW you shall not be less.
Seite 580 - Oh Thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin Beset the Road I was to wander in, Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil round Enmesh, and then impute my Fall to Sin!
Seite 578 - Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who Before us pass'd the door of Darkness through, Not one returns to tell us of the Road, ' "* Which to discover we must travel too.

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