The National quarterly review, ed. by E.I. Sears

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Edward Isidore Sears
1872
 

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Strana 7 - They had a king over them, who is the angel of the bottomless pit, whose name, in the Hebrew tongue, is Abaddon, but in the Greek tongue hath his name
Strana 11 - It came to pass that if a serpent had bitten any man, when he beheld the serpent of brass, he lived."* That is,
Strana 192 - year's news, The flame extinct, he views the roving fire, There goes my lady, and there goes the squire; There goes the parson, oh, illustrious spark, And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk.
Strana 292 - yet shall whet a sword • That thro' thy soul shall gae ! The weeping blood in woman's breast Was never known to thee ; Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe. Frae woman's pitying e'e."*
Strana 184 - them (the Scriptures) to himself as he follows the plough, that the weaver should hum- them to the time of his shuttle, that the traveller should beguile with their stories the tedium of his journey.
Strana 10 - And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of man be
Strana 141 - when they reached the river's pleasant brink Where lavers had been hollowed out to last Perpetually, and freely through them flowed Pure water that might cleanse the foulest stains, They loosed the mules, and drove them from the wain To browse the sweet grass by the eddying stream; And took the garments out,
Strana 134 - yet forbore To make his arms a spoil; he dared not that, But burned the dead with his bright armor on, And raised a mound above him. Mountain-nymphs, Daughters of ^Egis-bearing Jupiter, Came to the spot and planted it with
Strana 275 - Student's Mythology. A Compendium of Greek, Roman, Egyptian, Assyrian, Persian, Hindoo, Chinese, Thibetian, Scandinavian, Celtic, Aztec, and Peruvian Mythologies, in accordance with standard authorities. Arranged for the use of Schools and Academies. By CA WHITE.
Strana 300 - And still when the merry date season is burning. And calls to the palm-groves the young and the old, The happiest there, from their pastime returning At sunset will weep when thy story is told. The young village maid, when with flowers she dresses Her dark flowing hair for some festival day, Will think of thy fate till, neglecting her tresses, She mournfully turns from the mirror away.

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