The Gentleman's Magazine, Volume 288

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Bradbury, Evans, 1900 - English periodicals
 

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Page 399 - The rock shone bright, the kirk no less, That stands above the rock: The moonlight steeped in silentness The steady weathercock. "And the bay was white with silent light, Till, rising from the same, Full many shapes, that shadows were, In crimson colours came.
Page 144 - Oh, thou art fairer than the evening air Clad in, the beauty of a thousand stars...
Page 398 - It ceased ; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, — A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune.
Page 51 - Nay, take my life and all ; pardon not that : You take my house, when you do take the prop That doth sustain my house ; you take my life, When you do take the means whereby I live.
Page 285 - Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, For, faithful in death, his mute favourite attended, The much-loved remains of her master defended, And chased the hill-fox and the raven away. How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber ? When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start?
Page 264 - Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? Declare, if thou hast understanding. Who hath laid the measures thereof, if thou knowest? Or who hath stretched the line upon it? Whereupon are the foundations thereof fastened? Or who laid the corner-stone thereof, when the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy?
Page 536 - Field, being the last that was fought between the Houses of York and Lancaster ; with many other true Historical Passages. The Part of King Richard, by a GENTLEMAN, (Who never appeared on any Stage.) King Henry, by Mr.
Page 149 - From jigging veins of rhyming mother wits, And such conceits as clownage keeps in pay, We'll lead you to the stately tent of War...
Page 284 - But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still his master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone...
Page 283 - Then shakes his powdered coat, and barks for joy. Heedless of all his pranks, the sturdy churl Moves right toward the mark ; nor stops for aught But now and then with pressure of his thumb To adjust the fragrant charge of a short tube, That fumes beneath his nose : the trailing cloud Streams far behind him, scenting all the air.

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