Putnam's Magazine: An Illustrated Monthly of Literature, Art and Life, 1

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G.P. Putnam's Sons., 1907
 

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˹ 731 - Now came still evening on, and twilight gray Had in her sober livery all things clad ; Silence accompanied ; for beast and bird, They to their grassy couch, these to their nests, Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale, She all night long her amorous descant sung...
˹ 515 - Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.
˹ 270 - So when they continued asking Him, He lifted up Himself, and said unto them, He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.
˹ 297 - The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike th
˹ 731 - The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon, Rising in clouded majesty, at length, Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light, And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.
˹ 750 - The discipline and evolutions of a modern battalion gave me a clearer notion of the phalanx and the legion; and the captain of the Hampshire grenadiers (the reader may smile) has not been useless to the historian of the Roman empire.
˹ 44 - HE that goeth about to persuade a multitude, that they are not so well governed as they ought to be, shall never want attentive and favourable hearers ; because they know the manifold defects whereunto every kind of regiment is subject, but the secret lets and difficulties, which in public proceedings are innumerable and inevitable, they have not ordinarily the judgment to consider.
˹ 337 - Here let us sport. Boys, as we sit; Laughter and wit Flashing so free. Life is but short; When we are gone, Let them sing on Round the old tree. Evenings we knew, Happy as this; Faces we miss. Pleasant to see. Kind hearts and true, Gentle and just, Peace to your dust! We sing round the tree.
˹ 296 - Look, how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold. There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings. Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubim; Such harmony is in immortal souls; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.
˹ 337 - Here let us sport, Boys, as we sit ; Laughter and wit Flashing so free. Life is but short When we are gone, Let them sing on, Round the old tree.

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