Fanny, Issue 1

Front Cover
Wiley & Halsted, 1821 - 63 pages
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Page 37 - Tall spire, and glittering roof, and battlement, And banners floating in the sunny air; And white sails o'er the calm blue waters bent, Green isle, and circling shore, are blended there In wild reality.
Page 4 - Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots ; Their port was more than human, as they stood : I took it for a faery vision Of some gay creatures of the element, That in the colours of the rainbow live, And play i
Page 37 - Like the death-music of his coming doom, And clings to the green turf with desperate force, As the heart clings to life; and when resume The currents in his veins their wonted course, There lingers a deep feeling — like the moan Of wearied ocean, when the storm is gone.
Page 36 - WEEHAWKEN ! in thy mountain scenery yet, All we adore of Nature, in her wild And frolic hour of infancy, is met ; And never has a summer's morning smiled Upon a lovelier scene, than the full eye Of the enthusiast revels on — when high, Amid thy forest solitudes, he climbs O'er crags that proudly tower above the deep, And knows that sense of danger, which sublimes The breathless moment — when his daring step Is on the verge of the cliff, and...
Page 4 - Co. of the said district, have deposited in this office the title of a book, the right whereof they claim as proprietors, in the words following, to wit : " Tadeuskund, the Last King of the Lenape.
Page 65 - Young thoughts have music in them, love And happiness their theme ; And music wanders in the wind That lulls a morning dream. And there are angel voices heard, In childhood's frolic hours, When life is but an April day, Of sunshine and of flowers.
Page 30 - There's a barrel of porter at Tammany Hall, And the bucktails are swigging it all the night long; In the time of my boyhood 'twas pleasant to call For a seat and cigar, 'mid the jovial throng.
Page 25 - Heliconian waters Are sparkling in their native fount no more, And after years of wandering, the nine daughters Of poetry have found upon our shore A happier home, and on their sacred shrines Glow in immortal ink, the polished lines LX.
Page 60 - The clouds that fling The lightning, brighten ere the bolt appears ; The pantings of the warrior's heart are proud Upon that battle morn whose night-dews wet his shroud ; CLIX. The sun is loveliest as he sinks to rest ; The leaves of autumn smile when fading fast ; The swan's last song is sweetest — and the best Of Meigs's speeches, doubtless, was his last.
Page 11 - There are some happy moments in this lone And desolate world of ours, that well repay The toil of struggling through it, and atone For many a long, sad night and weary day.

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