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" That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, Old ocean's gray 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 on the sad abodes of... "
Graded City Speller: Fifth, Sixth, Seventh, and Eighth Year Grades - Seite 202
von William Estabrook Chancellor - 1908
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The Edinburgh Literary Journal: Or, Weekly Register of Criticism and ..., Band 2

1829
...planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still laps? of ages— all that tread The globe are but a handful...to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wingg Of momipg, and the Barcnn desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the contiguous woods, Where rolls...
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Specimens of American Poetry: With Critical and Biographical Notices ..., Band 3

Samuel Kettell - 1829
...of heaven, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread Are shining on the sad abodes of death, The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.—Take the wings Of morning—and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous...
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Studies in Poetry: Embracing Notices of the Lives and Writings of the Best ...

George Barrell Cheever - 1830 - 480 Seiten
...The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The...lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound, Save his own dashings — yet — the dead are there, And millions in those...
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The Foreign Quarterly Review, Band 10

1832
...The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The...lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began,...
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The Cambridge Book of Poetry and Song

Charlotte Fiske Bates - 1832 - 882 Seiten
...The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The...slumber In its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning, traverse Barca's desert sands, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and...
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The Museum of Foreign Literature, Science, and Art, Band 21

Robert Walsh, Eliakim Littell, John Jay Smith - 1832
...sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death Through ihe still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are...to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the winfs Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls...
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The Metropolitan, Band 3

1832
...lapse of ages. All that tread The glohe are hut a handful to the trihes That slumher in its hosom. Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods W here rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound Save his own dashings ; yet the dead are there, And millious...
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The American Quarterly Observer, Band 1

Bela Bates Edwards - 1833
...The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The...lose thyself in the continuous woods "Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound, Save his own dashings — yet — the dead are there ; And millions in...
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Selections from the American Poets: With Some Introductory Remarks

1834 - 357 Seiten
...golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the ad abodes of death, • Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The...slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning, and the Barean desert pieree ; Or lose thyself in the eontinuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no...
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The Monthly Repository and Library of Entertaining Knowledge, Band 4

1834
...of heaven, Through the still lapse of apes. All that tread Are shining on the sad abodes of death, The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.—Take the wings Of morning—and the Barcan desert pierce, Where rolls the Orogon, and hears...
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