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µµ¼­ Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound...¿¡ ´ëÇØ °Ë»öÇÑ
" 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... "
The Fourth Reader, Or, Exercises in Reading and Speaking: Designed for the ... - 374 ÆäÀÌÁö
ÀúÀÚ: Salem Town - 1847 - 408 ÆäÀÌÁö
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Specimens of the American Poets

1822 - 298 ÆäÀÌÁö
...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, 1±Ç

1822 - 764 ÆäÀÌÁö
...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 Wesleyan-Methodist Magazine

1857 - 1196 ÆäÀÌÁö
...or rather, the inspiration of the former is everywhere consecrated by the latter. " Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods M'here rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, Save his own dashings, — yet — the dead are there...
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The American First Class Book, Or, Exercises in Reading and Recitation

John Pierpont - 1823 - 492 ÆäÀÌÁö
...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 ...

John March Putnam - 1828 - 200 ÆäÀÌÁö
...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 and ..., 2±Ç

1829 - 520 ÆäÀÌÁö
...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 - 436 ÆäÀÌÁö
...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, 1±Ç

Cornelius Roosevelt Duffie - 1829 - 444 ÆäÀÌÁö
...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 Notices. In ..., 3±Ç

Samuel Kettell - 1829 - 432 ÆäÀÌÁö
...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 and ..., 2±Ç

1829 - 642 ÆäÀÌÁö
...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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