"Hellebore" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... things to-day have voices, To tell the joy of heaven, Which unto earth is given; This Winter flower rejoices, This snowy hellebore Which blooms for evermore On merry Christmas Day, Reminding us of One Here born a Virgin's Son, To take our sins away. The death its leaves within Is but the death of sin; Which death to die was born The pure and guiltless Child Who Justice reconciled And oped the gates of morn, What time a crimson ...
— Brave Men and Women - Their Struggles, Failures, And Triumphs • O.E. Fuller
... fair array of bright blossoms, the yellows becoming more prevalent, and all the colors deepening as the heat grows more intense. The delicate spring flowers are succeeded by a stouter and somewhat coarser display. The species of veratrum, or false hellebore, which is now to be seen in New England swamps and pastures, is a very striking plant; it has long leaves, strongly veined and most beautifully plaited, with numerous racemes of green flowers, forming a large terminal pyramid. ...
— Harper's Young People, July 13, 1880 - An Illustrated Weekly • Various
... the wife of Francis Maigret, savetier of Mantua, spoke divers languages, and was cured by Calderon, a physician, famous in his time, who gave her a potion of Hellebore. Erasmus says also[264] that he had seen an Italian, a native of Spoletta, who spoke German very well, although he had never been in Germany; they gave him a medicine which caused him to eject a quantity of worms, and he was cured so as not to ...
— The Phantom World - or, The philosophy of spirits, apparitions, &c, &c. • Augustin Calmet
... as the powder of white hellebore, or Cayan pepper, diluted with some less acrid powder, are said to cure some cold or nervous head-achs; which may be effected by inflaming the nostrils, and thus introducing the sensorial power ...
— Zoonomia, Vol. II - Or, the Laws of Organic Life • Erasmus Darwin
... disturb thy dismal sway; And there amid unwholesome damps dost sleep, In such forgetful slumbers deep, That all thy senses stupefied Are to marble petrified. Sleepy Death, I welcome thee! Sweet are thy calms to misery. Poppies I will ask no more, Nor the fatal hellebore; Death is the best, the only cure, His are slumbers ever sure. Lay me in the Gothic tomb, In whose solemn fretted gloom I may lie in mouldering state, With all the grandeur of the great: Over me, magnificent, Carve ...
— The Poetical Works of Henry Kirke White - With a Memoir by Sir Harris Nicolas • Henry Kirke White
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