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Books Books 1 - 10 of 124 on Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound....
" Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashings — yet the dead are there; And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep — the... "
Exercises in Reading and Speaking - Page 374
by Salem Town - 1847 - 408 pages
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Specimens of the American Poets

Henry Roscoe - American poetry - 1822 - 283 pages
...that tread 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 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 Inquirer, Volume 1

1822
...that tread 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 .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 American First Class Book, Or, Exercises in Reading and Recitation, Book 4

John Pierpont - Recitations - 1823 - 480 pages
...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 woods Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound, 22 * 2S8 THE AMERICAN (Lew<ra 11T. Save his own dashings — yet — the...
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English Grammar: With an Improved Syntax. Part I. Comprehending at One View ...

Textbooks - 1828 - 180 pages
...that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosoro. — Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods * Tear*, is a noun without a governing word ; Rule 15.— Hence, is an adverb ami qualities is understood...
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The Edinburgh Literary Journal: Or, Weekly Register of Criticism ..., Volume 2

Great Britain - 1829
...momipg, and the Barcnn desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the contiguous woods, Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound Save his own dashings — yet the...are there ! And millions in those solitudes, since (irst The flight of vcars began, have laid them down In their last sleep— the dead reign there alone....
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Kettell, Samuel: Specimens of American Poetry...

1829
...that tread 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 woods Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound, Save his own dashings— yet— the dead are there, And millions hi those...
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Sermons

Cornelius Roosevelt Duffie - Sermons, American - 1829
...that tread The globe, are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. ——Millions — since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep." From their graves a small still voice seems to convey this prophetic caution to our hearts : " So shalt...
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Specimens of American Poetry: With Critical and Biographical ..., Volume 3

Samuel Kettell - American poetry - 1829
...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 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 Edinburgh Literary Journal: Or, Weekly Register of Criticism ..., Volume 2

1829
...all that tread 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 contiguous woods, Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound Save his own dash ings — yet the dead...
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Studies in Poetry: Embracing Notices of the Lives and Writings of the Best ...

George Barrell Cheever - American poetry - 1830 - 480 pages
...that tread 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 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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