Cooper's Works, Band 31

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James G. Gregory (successor to W.A. Townsend), 1860
 

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Seite 193 - God shall wound the head of his enemies, and the hairy scalp of such a one as goeth on still in his wickedness.
Seite 169 - Benjamin shall ravin as a wolf: in the morning he shall devour the prey, and at night he shall divide the spoil.
Seite 168 - And he saw that rest was good, and the land that it was pleasant; and bowed his shoulder to bear, and became a servant unto tribute.
Seite 127 - He turned him round and fled amain With hurry and dash to the beach again ; He twisted over from side to side, And laid his cheek to the cleaving tide. The strokes of his plunging arms are fleet, And with all his might he flings his feet, But the water-sprites are round him still, To cross his path and work him ill.
Seite 307 - And in her fifteenth year became a bride, Marrying an only son, Francesco Doria, Her playmate from her birth, and her first love.
Seite 353 - Was thy tempestuous road ; Nor indignation burnt before thee on thy way. But thee, a soft and naked child, Thy mother undefiled, In the rude manger laid to rest From off her virgin breast.
Seite 352 - My wish is to cut off the pale-faces. This must be done, or the pale-faces will cut off the Injins. There is no choice. One nation or the other must be destroyed. I am a red man; my heart tells me that the pale-faces should die. They are on strange hunting-grounds, not the red men. They are wrong, we are right. But, Bourdon, I have friends among the pale-faces, and it is not natural to scalp our friends. I do not understand a religion that tells us to love our enemies, and to do good to them that...
Seite 170 - There is no other land like thee, No dearer shore ; Thou art the shelter of the free ; The home, the port of Liberty, Thou hast been, and shalt ever be, Till time is o'er. Ere I forget to think upon My land, shall mother curse the son She bore.
Seite 53 - ... fetid shrubs, That taint the gloomy atmosphere — dusk shades, That gather, half a cloud, and half a fiend In aspect, lurking on the swamp's wild edge — Gloom with their sternness and forbidding frowns The general prospect. The sad butterfly, Waving his lackered wings, darts quickly on, And, by his free flight, counsels us to speed For better lodgings, and a scene more sweet Than these drear borders offer us to-night. Mr. Simms...
Seite 246 - Would, like the Patriarch's, soothe a dying hour, With voice as low, as gentle, and caressing, As e'er won maiden's lip in moonlit bower ; With look, like patient Job's, eschewing evil ; With motions graceful as a bird's in air ; Thou art, in sober truth, the veriest devil That e'er clenched fingers in a captive's hair?

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