The National magazine and general reviewJames Lyon (of Fairhaven, Vermont) |
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˹éÒ 2
... thee , into my cup was thrown , Its harshest dregs else had not forc'd a groan ! But all is o'er - these eyes have gazed their last --- And now the bitterness of death is past . " He Mr. Canning was also the author of several other ...
... thee , into my cup was thrown , Its harshest dregs else had not forc'd a groan ! But all is o'er - these eyes have gazed their last --- And now the bitterness of death is past . " He Mr. Canning was also the author of several other ...
˹éÒ 6
... thee , when lost we deplore ; Admir'd in thy zenith , but lov'd in thy fall ! O ! take , then --- for dangers by wisdom repell'd , For evils , by courage and constancy brav'd --- O take ! for a throne by thy counsels upheld , The thanks ...
... thee , when lost we deplore ; Admir'd in thy zenith , but lov'd in thy fall ! O ! take , then --- for dangers by wisdom repell'd , For evils , by courage and constancy brav'd --- O take ! for a throne by thy counsels upheld , The thanks ...
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... thee . " Of the wit of Mr. Canning , his speeches furnish very many ex- amples , and there are few persons who cannot relate a variety of bon mots which are usually attributed to him ; whether truly or untruly , it is difficult to say ...
... thee . " Of the wit of Mr. Canning , his speeches furnish very many ex- amples , and there are few persons who cannot relate a variety of bon mots which are usually attributed to him ; whether truly or untruly , it is difficult to say ...
˹éÒ 20
... d with pearl ; If so be I may but prove Lucky in this maid I love , I will promise there shall be Myrtles offer'd up to thee . HERRICK . THE LOVE - CUP . DELICIOUS CUP , where virgin 20 THE NATIONAL MAGAZINE . III Hymn to Venus.
... d with pearl ; If so be I may but prove Lucky in this maid I love , I will promise there shall be Myrtles offer'd up to thee . HERRICK . THE LOVE - CUP . DELICIOUS CUP , where virgin 20 THE NATIONAL MAGAZINE . III Hymn to Venus.
˹éÒ 21
... thee as the spell , Which calls remembrance back to other days , When all a soul could feel , or tongue could tell , Was in the poet's theme to woman's praise . G. C. C. THE FEUDAL SYSTEM . " A base and rotten policy . " SHAKSPEARE ...
... thee as the spell , Which calls remembrance back to other days , When all a soul could feel , or tongue could tell , Was in the poet's theme to woman's praise . G. C. C. THE FEUDAL SYSTEM . " A base and rotten policy . " SHAKSPEARE ...
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˹éÒ 289 - When I see kings lying by those who deposed them, when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy men that divided the world with their contests and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little competitions, factions, and debates of mankind.
˹éÒ 289 - When I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies in me ; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out; when I meet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts with compassion: when I see the tomb of the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow...
˹éÒ 47 - And should my youth, as youth is apt, I know, Some harshness show, All vain asperities I day by day Would wear away, Till the smooth temper of my age should be Like the high leaves upon the Holly tree.
˹éÒ 48 - How beautiful is night ! A dewy freshness fills the silent air, No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain, Breaks the serene of heaven : In full-orbed glory yonder moon divine Rolls through the dark blue depths.
˹éÒ 363 - Singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight 'twould win me, That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome ! those caves of ice ! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware ! Beware ! His flashing eyes, his floating hair ! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise.
˹éÒ 409 - It was on the day, or rather night, of the 27th of June 1787, between the hours of eleven and twelve, that I wrote the last lines of the last page, in a summer-house in my garden. After laying down my pen, I took several turns in a berceau, or covered walk of acacias, which commands a prospect of the country, the lake, and the mountains.
˹éÒ 363 - They parted — ne'er to meet again! But never either found another To free the hollow heart from paining — They stood aloof, the scars remaining, Like cliffs which had been rent asunder; A dreary sea now flows between: But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder, Shall wholly do away, I ween, The marks of that which once hath been.
˹éÒ 409 - I will not dissemble the first emotions of joy on recovery of my freedom, and, perhaps, the establishment of my fame. But my pride was soon humbled, and a sober melancholy was spread over my mind, by the idea that I had taken an everlasting leave of an old and agreeable companion, and that, whatsoever might be the future date of my History, the life of the historian must be short and precarious.
˹éÒ 363 - For a lady's chamber meet : The lamp with twofold silver chain Is fastened to an angel's feet.
˹éÒ 12 - Such as is one of these magnificent machines when springing from inaction into a display of its might, such is England herself, while apparently passive and motionless, she silently concentrates the power to be put forth on an adequate occasion.