Burton's Gentleman's Magazine and American Monthly Review, المجلدات 6-7

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الصفحة 50 - Go, LOVELY rose ! Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts, where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die! that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee! — How...
الصفحة 101 - I HEARD the trailing garments of the Night Sweep through her marble halls ! I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light From the celestial walls ! I felt her presence by its spell of might, Stoop o'er me from above ; The calm, majestic presence of the Night, As of the one I love.
الصفحة 75 - If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle : I remember The first time ever Caesar put it on : 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent; That day he overcame the " Nervii: Look, in this place ran Cassius...
الصفحة 103 - The cricket chirps : the light burns low : -'Tis nearly twelve o'clock. Shake hands, before you die. Old year, we'll dearly rue for you : What is it we can do for you ? Speak out before you die. His face is growing sharp and thin. Alack ! our friend is gone. Close up his eyes : tie up his chin : Step from the corpse, and let him in That standeth there alone, And waiteth at the door. There's a new foot on the floor, my friend, And a new face at the door, my friend, A new face at the door.
الصفحة 103 - Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow, And tread softly, and speak low, For the old year lies a-dying. Old year, you must not die, You came to us so readily, You lived with us so steadily, Old year, you shall not die.
الصفحة 103 - em away Old year, you must not go ; So long as you have been with us, Such joy as you have seen with us, Old year, you shall not go He frothed his bumpers to the brim ; A jollier year we shall not see.
الصفحة 108 - I LOVED thee long and dearly, Florence vane; My life's bright dream and early Hath come again; I renew, in my fond vision. My heart's dear pain — My hopes, and thy derision, Florence Vane. The ruin, lone and hoary, The ruin old Where thou didst hark my story, At even told — That spot — the hues Elysian Of sky and plain — I treasure in my vision, Florence Vane. Thou wast lovelier than the roses In their prime; Thy voice excelled the closes Of sweetest rhyme; Thy heart was as a river Without...
الصفحة 233 - ... the defenceless ; warding off from them the peltings of the storm, or the scorching rays of arbitrary power. He who is this, is an ornament and a blessing to his native land. He who is otherwise, abuses his eminent advantages; abuses the grandeur and prosperity which he has drawn from the bosom of his country. Should tempests arise, and he be laid prostrate by the storm, who would mourn over his fall? Should he be borne down by the oppressive hand of power, who would murmur at his fate?—
الصفحة 42 - Or who shut up the sea with doors, when it brake forth, as if it had issued out of the womb?
الصفحة 9 - ... his curled brows Frown on the gentle stream, which calmly flows, While winds and storms his lofty forehead beat, The common fate of all that's high or great. Low at his foot a spacious plain is...

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