The Illustrated Magazine, المجلدات 27-28

الغلاف الأمامي
Ward and Lock
 

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الصفحة 126 - Ay, now am I in Arden : the more fool I ; when I was at home, I was in a better place ; but travellers must be content.
الصفحة 34 - Of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth...
الصفحة 206 - We were now treading that illustrious island which was once the luminary of the Caledonian regions, whence savage clans and roving barbarians derived the benefits of knowledge and the blessings of religion. To abstract the mind from all local emotion would be impossible if it were endeavoured, and would be foolish if it were possible.
الصفحة 320 - Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream : The genius, and the mortal instruments, Are then in council : and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.
الصفحة 35 - Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not...
الصفحة 76 - I dream away my life in others' speculations. I love to lose myself in other men's minds. When I am not walking, I am reading ; I cannot sit and think. Books think for me.
الصفحة 207 - In varied tone prolong'd and high, That mocks the organ's melody. Nor doth its entrance front in vain To old lona's holy fane, That Nature's voice might seem to say, " Well hast thou done, frail Child of clay ! Thy humble powers that stately shrine Task'd high and hard — but witness mine !"— XI.
الصفحة 119 - The children of that distant day Thus to some aged man shall say; And, gazing on its mossy stem, The gray-haired man shall answer them: " A poet of the land was he, Born in the rude but good old times...
الصفحة 16 - In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more, And silent rows the songless gondolier ; Her palaces are crumbling to the shore, And music meets not always now the ear : Those days are gone — but beauty still is here. States fall, arts fade — but Nature doth not die; Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear, The pleasant place of all festivity, The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy...
الصفحة 111 - The kindest and the happiest pair Will find occasion to forbear; And something, every day they live, To pity, and perhaps forgive.

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