Magazine of Natural History, Band 7

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John Claudius Loudon, Edward Charlesworth, John Denson
Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown, and Green, 1834

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Seite 313 - And portance in my travel's history; Wherein of antres vast, and deserts idle, Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven, It was my hint to speak, — such was the process; And of the Cannibals that each other eat, The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders.
Seite 269 - Go to the ant, thou sluggard ; consider her ways, and be wise: which having no guide, overseer, or ruler, provideth her meat in the summer, and gathereth her food in the harvest.
Seite 403 - Nevertheless these shall ye not eat of them that chew the cud, or of them that divide the hoof: as the camel, because he cheweth the cud, but divideth not the hoof; he is unclean unto you.
Seite 323 - My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, So flew'd, so sanded " ; and their heads are hung With ears that sweep away the morning dew ; Crook-knee'd, and dew-lap'd like Thessalian bulls; Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells, Each under each.
Seite 282 - And, sure, he is an honourable man. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, not without cause; What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason!
Seite 319 - Who hath sent out the wild ass free? or who hath loosed the bands of the wild ass? Whose house I have made the wilderness, and the barren land his dwellings. He scorneth the multitude of the city, neither regardeth he the crying of the driver. The range of the mountains is his pasture, and he searcheth after every green thing.
Seite 394 - Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow, twitt'ring from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
Seite 425 - Is it for thee the lark ascends and sings? Joy tunes his voice, joy elevates his wings. Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat ? Loves of his own and raptures swell the note.
Seite 193 - Together let us beat this ample field, Try what the open, what the covert yield; The latent tracts, the giddy heights, explore Of all who blindly creep, or sightless soar...
Seite 407 - I have found out a gift for my fair; I have found where the wood-pigeons breed; But let me that plunder forbear, She will say 'twas a barbarous deed...

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