The Edinburgh Literary Journal: Or, Weekly Register of Criticism and Belles Lettres, المجلد 2Ballantyne, 1829 Vol. 2 includes "The poet Shelley--his unpublished work, T̀he wandering Jew'" (p. 43-45, [57]-60) |
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الصفحة 20
... feeling and self - indulgence , —of ferocity and benevolence , even in the best Mussulman . Their creed knows nothing of re- straint and self - denial , and thus all the energies of their nature grow up to their full strength . The ...
... feeling and self - indulgence , —of ferocity and benevolence , even in the best Mussulman . Their creed knows nothing of re- straint and self - denial , and thus all the energies of their nature grow up to their full strength . The ...
الصفحة 21
... some novelists communicate to theirs , the loss is , in a great measure , compensated by the high poetical feel- J * 8 Meanwhile the contest of O'Nial and Thurles conti- nued within WEEKLY REGISTER OF CRITICISM AND BELLES LETTRES . 21.
... some novelists communicate to theirs , the loss is , in a great measure , compensated by the high poetical feel- J * 8 Meanwhile the contest of O'Nial and Thurles conti- nued within WEEKLY REGISTER OF CRITICISM AND BELLES LETTRES . 21.
الصفحة 34
... feel tians were of a different opinion , yet he himself , and as well pleased that the LITERARY JOURNAL should be the many Christians as were in every respect orthodox , first periodical in this country to introduce the Bishop of ...
... feel tians were of a different opinion , yet he himself , and as well pleased that the LITERARY JOURNAL should be the many Christians as were in every respect orthodox , first periodical in this country to introduce the Bishop of ...
الصفحة 40
... feel sore both for our- selves and other dramatic critics who have not scrupled , for a considerable period back , to bestow the best of their abilities in criticisms , both on the pieces produced here , and on the manner in which they ...
... feel sore both for our- selves and other dramatic critics who have not scrupled , for a considerable period back , to bestow the best of their abilities in criticisms , both on the pieces produced here , and on the manner in which they ...
الصفحة 41
... feel the ebbing soul expand into the sky ! THE ROVER'S RETREAT . By Thomas Atkinson . My stride is again on the deck of my bark , And my bark rides once more on the crest of the sea , And I care not though round my track storm - clouds ...
... feel the ebbing soul expand into the sky ! THE ROVER'S RETREAT . By Thomas Atkinson . My stride is again on the deck of my bark , And my bark rides once more on the crest of the sea , And I care not though round my track storm - clouds ...
عبارات ومصطلحات مألوفة
ain true love appear auld beautiful better Boabdil called character Charles Kemble church clan Mackay Cravat cuckoo dark death delightful Edinburgh Review Editor English engraved eyes fair favour feel frae French friends genius ginal give Glasgow Greenock hand happy heard heart heaven honour hope Innerleithen interesting Italy King lady Lady Morgan land language light living London look Lord Lord Byron Madame Vestris manner ment mind Miss nature never night o'er once original painted person pleasure poem poet poetry possess present racter readers remarkable respect round scarcely scene Scotland Scottish seems seen sing Sir Walter Scott smile song soul spirit story style sweet talent taste Theatre thee thing Thomas Hood thou thought tion truth volume whole words write young
مقاطع مشهورة
الصفحة 131 - That make the meadows green ; and, pour'd round all, Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun. The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.
الصفحة 131 - She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides Into his darker musings with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Over thy spirit, and sad images Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house...
الصفحة 131 - Yet a few days, and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image.
الصفحة 131 - Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashings — yet the dead are there ! And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone.
الصفحة 131 - There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower, There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree, There's a smile on the fruit and a smile on the flower, And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea.
الصفحة 131 - So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan that moves To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
الصفحة 131 - Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again; And, lost each human trace, surrendering up Thine individual being, shalt thou go To mix forever with the elements; To be a brother to the insensible rock, And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain Turns with his share, and treads upon.
الصفحة 131 - Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee.
الصفحة 16 - At the end of the seventeenth and the beginning of the eighteenth century...
الصفحة 225 - Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure: Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure, Sweet is pleasure after pain. Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain; Fought all his battles o'er again, And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain!