The Pictorial Sketch-book of Pennsylvania: Or, Its Scenery, Internal Improvements, Resources, and Agriculture

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W. White Smith, 1854 - 516 Seiten

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Seite 97 - There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature.
Seite 43 - Happy the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air, In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire, Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire.
Seite 295 - And by my side, in battle true, A thousand warriors drew the shaft? Ah ! there in desolation cold The desert serpent dwells alone, Where grass o'ergrows each mouldering bone, And stones themselves to ruin grown, Like me, are death-like old : Then seek we not their camp — for there The silence dwells of my despair.
Seite 97 - I appeal to any white man to say, if ever he entered Logan's cabin hungry, and he gave him not meat; if ever he came cold and naked, and he clothed him not. During the course of the last long and bloody war, Logan remained idle in his cabin, an advocate for peace. Such was my love for the Whites, that my countrymen pointed as they passed, and said, ' Logan is the friend of white men.
Seite 122 - Thou art the source and centre of all minds, Their only point of rest, eternal Word ! From thee departing, they are lost and rove At random, without honour, hope, or peace. From thee is all that soothes the life of man, His high endeavour, and his glad success, His strength to suffer, and his will to serve. But...
Seite 173 - This was a whole day's work ; we next got it launched, then went on board of it and set off; but before we were half way over, we were jammed in the ice in such a manner that we expected every moment our raft to sink, and ourselves to perish.
Seite 286 - And in the visions of romantic youth, What years of endless bliss are yet to flow ! But, mortal pleasure, what art thou in truth ? The torrent's smoothness, ere it dash below...
Seite 43 - Thus let me live, unseen, unknown. Thus unlamented let me die, Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie.
Seite 175 - I had four bullets through my coat, and two horses shot under me, yet escaped unhurt, though death was levelling my companions on every side of me...
Seite 272 - Then, where of Indian hills the daylight takes His leave, how might you the flamingo see Disporting like a meteor on the lakes — And playful squirrel on his nut-grown tree : And every sound of life was full of glee, From merry mock-bird's song, or hum of men ; While hearkening, fearing nought their revelry, The wild deer arch'd his neck from glades, and then, Unhunted, sought his woods and wilderness again.

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