The Analyst: A Quarterly Journal of Science, Literature, Natural History, and the Fine Arts, المجلدات 3-4

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Simpkin & Marshall, 1836

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الصفحة 177 - The lunatic, the lover and the poet Are of imagination all compact One sees more devils than vast hell can hold, That is, the madman. The lover, all as frantic, Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven; And as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name.
الصفحة 193 - I do embrace it : for even that vulgar and tavern music, which makes one man merry, another mad, strikes in me a deep fit of devotion, and a profound contemplation of the first composer ; there is something in it of divinity more than the ear discovers : it is an hieroglyphical and shadowed lesson of the whole world, and creatures of God; such a melody to the ear, as the whole world, well understood, would afford the understanding. In brief, it is a sensible fit of that harmony, which intellectually...
الصفحة 225 - ... Sleep no more ! Macbeth doth murder sleep, the innocent sleep; Sleep, that knits up the ravell'd sleave ' of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast ; — Lady M. What do you mean ? Macb. Still it cried, Sleep no more ! to all the house : Glamis hath murdered sleep; and therefore Cawdor Shall sleep no more ; Macbeth shall sleep no more .
الصفحة 102 - O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou, That, notwithstanding thy capacity Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, Of what validity and pitch soe'er, But falls into abatement and low price, Even in a minute; so full of shapes is fancy, That it alone is high fantastical.
الصفحة 225 - Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased ; Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ; Raze out the written troubles of the brain ; And, with some sweet, oblivious antidote, Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff, Which weighs upon the heart ? Doct.
الصفحة 44 - Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality, • And dreams in their developement have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being...
الصفحة 248 - But, as when the sun approaching toward the gates of the morning, he first opens a little eye of heaven, and sends away the spirits of darkness, and gives light to a cock, and calls up the lark to matins, and by and by gilds the fringes of a cloud, and peeps over the eastern hills...
الصفحة 224 - Methought I heard a voice cry, Sleep no more ! Macbeth does murder sleep, the innocent sleep ; Sleep, that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast ;— Lady M.
الصفحة 49 - All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea. Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept (As 'twere in scorn of eyes,) reflecting gems, That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
الصفحة 58 - Under the connecting feeling of tropical heat and vertical sunlights, I brought together all creatures, birds, beasts, reptiles, all trees and plants, usages and appearances, that are found in all tropical regions, and assembled them together in China or Indostan.

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