The Cottage Garland; Or, Poems on the Love of Flowers, Kindness to Animals, and the Domestic Affections

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C.H. Camp, 1848 - Animals - 103 pages
 

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Page 57 - Whither, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far through their rosy depths dost thou pursue Thy solitary way?
Page 49 - The sum is this. If man's convenience, health, Or safety interfere, his rights and claims Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs, Else they are all — the meanest things that are, As free to live, and to enjoy that life, As God was free to form them at the first, Who in his sovereign wisdom made them all.
Page 58 - There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,— The desert and illimitable air,— Lone wandering, but not lost.
Page 65 - Then kneeling down to HEAVEN'S ETERNAL KING, The saint, the father, and the husband prays : Hope " springs exulting on triumphant wing,"* That thus they all shall meet in future days ; There ever bask in uncreated rays, No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, Together hymning their Creator's praise, In such society, yet still more dear; While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere.
Page 65 - They chant their artless notes in simple guise; They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim; Perhaps Dundee's wild warbling measures rise, Or plaintive Martyrs...
Page 64 - Is there, in human form, that bears a heart, A wretch, a villain, lost to love and truth, That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth ? Curse on his perjured arts ! dissembling smooth ! Are honor, virtue, conscience, all exiled ? Is there no pity, no relenting ruth.
Page 65 - No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear, Together hymning their Creator's praise, In such society, yet still more dear, While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere. Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride, In all the pomp of method and of art, When men display to congregations wide Devotion's ev'ry grace except the heart!
Page 64 - What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave ; Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave. O happy love ! where love like this is found ! O heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare ! I've paced much this weary, mortal round, And sage experience bids me this declare: — "If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, One cordial in this melancholy vale, 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents...
Page 27 - The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers...
Page 13 - So serious should my youth appear among The thoughtless throng ; So would I seem, amid the young and gay, More grave than they ; That in my age as cheerful I might be As the green winter of the holly tree.

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