The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Margaret Chandler: With a Memoir of Her Life & CharacterT. E. Chapman, 1845 - 180 páginas |
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Términos y frases comunes
agony amid Angel of Grief anguish ANTHONY BENEZET beautiful bending beneath bitter bless bliss blood bosom breast breath breeze bright brother brow calm cheek Christian clouds crush'd dark dear deep despairing band dreams dukedom of Northumberland e'en earth ELIZABETH MARGARET CHANDLER Emancipation father feel female flowers forever friends gathered band gaze gentle glance gloom grave grief guilt gush hand happiness hath heart heaven holy hope hour human JOHN WOOLMAN labour land lift light limbs look luxuries maize midst mind mingled mirth mother neath never night o'er once oppression pale night pass'd prayer proud round scene scourge seem'd selfishness shame silent slave slavery sleep slumber smile sorrow soul spirit stood suffering sweet tears tell thee thine thou thought toil torn trafficker in human voice wave weary weep WIFE'S LAMENT wild woman wrong young
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Página 15 - Though I speak with the tongues of men and of Angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.
Página 38 - Lucy had (and it was a consolation) clung to the belief that, despite of appearances and his own confession, his past life had not been such as to place him without the pale...
Página 88 - Whereto thus Adam fatherly displeased. "O execrable son so to aspire Above his brethren, to himself assuming Authority usurped, from God not given; He gave us only over beast, fish, fowl Dominion absolute; that right we hold By his donation; but man over men He made not lord; such title to himself Reserving, human left from human free.
Página 64 - THINK of our country's glory, All dimm'd with Afric's tears— Her broad flag stained and gory, With the hoarded guilt of years. Think of the frantic mother, Lamenting for her child, Till falling lashes smother Her cries of anguish wild!
Página 73 - Thou shalt have fame ! Oh, mockery ! give the reed From storms a shelter — give the drooping vine Something round which its tendrils may entwine — Give the parched flower a rain-drop, and the meed Of love's kind words to woman...
Página 58 - Ye who wear a guarded life, — Ye whose bliss hangs not, like mine, On a tyrant's word or sign, Will ye hear, with careless eye, Of the wild despairing cry Rising up from human hearts, As their latest bliss departs ? Blest ones ! whom no...
Página 80 - She laid her hand upon her heart; her eye flash'd proud and clear, And firmer grew her haughty tread;—" My lord is hidden here ! " And if ye seek to view his form, ye first must tear away, From round his secret dwelling-place these walls of living clay!" They quail'd beneath her haughty glance, they silent turn'd aside, And left her all unharm'd amidst her loveliness and pride!
Página 49 - The night-winds sung their only dirge, their knell Was but the owlet's boding cry of woe, The flap of night-hawk's wing, and murmuring waters' flow. But it is over now, — the plough hath rased All trace of where war's wasting hand hath been : No vestige...
Página 52 - Until it seem'd that thou hadst taken a part In their existence, and couldst hold no more A separate life from them, as thou hadst done before. How the sweet pathos of thy eloquence, Beautiful in its simplicity, went forth Entreating for them ! that this vile offence, So unbeseeming of our country's worth, Might be removed before the threatening cloud, Thou saw'st o'erhanging it, should burst in storm and blood. So may thy name be reverenced, — thou...
Página 116 - The inhuman scourge was tried, Till the tears that ceased to flow, Were with redder drops supplied. And can you behold unmoved, All the crushing weight of grief, That her aching heart has proved, Seeking not to yield relief? Are not woman's pulses warm, Beating in that anguish'd breast ? Is it not a sister's form, On whose limbs those fetters rest?