New Monthly Magazine, Volumen10

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Thomas Campbell, Samuel Carter Hall, Edward Bulwer Lytton Baron Lytton, Theodore Edward Hook, Thomas Hood, William Harrison Ainsworth
Henry Colburn, 1824

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Página 60 - Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath. And stars to set — but all — Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death ! THE LOST PLEIAD.
Página 178 - Duncan is in his grave; After life's fitful fever he sleeps well; Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison, Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing Can touch him further.
Página 264 - O Proserpina, For the flowers now that frighted thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon! daffodils That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength...
Página 85 - Would I were dead! if God's good will were so: For what is in this world but grief and woe ? O God ! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain : To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point...
Página 32 - E'en now, where Alpine solitudes ascend, I sit me down a pensive hour to spend ; And placed on high above the storm's career, Look downward where an hundred realms appear ; Lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide, The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride.
Página 485 - Out of every corner of the woods and glens they came creeping forth upon their hands, for their legs could not bear them; they looked like anatomies of death ; they spake like ghosts crying out of their graves...
Página 420 - Me, of these Nor skill'd nor studious, higher argument "Remains ; sufficient of itself to raise That name, unless an age too late, or cold Climate, or years damp my intended wing Depress'd ; and much they may, if all be mine, Not hers, who brings it nightly to my ear.
Página 383 - Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate, All but the page prescribed, their present state: From brutes what men, from men what spirits know: Or who could suffer being here below? The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play? Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.
Página 60 - Death ! Day is for mortal care, Eve, for glad meetings round the joyous hearth, Night, for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer ; But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth ! The banquet hath its hour, Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine; There comes a day for griefs o'erwhelming power, A time for softer tears...
Página 319 - If stately passions in me burn, And one chance look to thee should turn, I drink out of an humbler urn A lowlier pleasure — The homely sympathy that heeds The common life our nature breeds, A wisdom fitted to the needs Of hearts at leisure.

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