The New Monthly Magazine, Volume 99

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Chapman and Hall (Adams and Francis; E.W. Allen), 1853
 

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Page 78 - Roman nose, And his cheek was like a rose In the snow. But now his nose is thin, And it rests upon his chin Like a staff, And a crook is in his back, And a melancholy crack In his laugh. I know it is a sin For me to sit and grin At him here ; But the old three-cornered hat, And the breeches, and all that, Are so queer! And if I should live to be The last leaf upon the tree In the spring, Let them smile, as I do now, At the old forsaken bough Where I cling.
Page 412 - For it is not metres, but a metre-making argument that makes a poem, — a thought so passionate and alive that like the spirit of a plant or an animal it has an architecture of its own, and adorns nature with a new thing.
Page 297 - Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house...
Page 296 - O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen, Or columbines, in purple dressed, Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. Thou waitest late and com'st alone, When woods are bare and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days portend The aged year is near his end. Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky, Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall.
Page 298 - I behold them for the first, And my heart swells, while the dilated sight Takes in the encircling vastness. Lo ! they stretch In airy undulations, far away, As if the ocean, in his gentlest swell, Stood still, with all his rounded billows fixed, And motionless for ever.
Page 77 - Ere the pruning-knife of Time Cut him down, Not a better man was found By the Crier on his round Through the town.
Page 269 - But knowledge is as food, and needs no less Her temperance over appetite, to know In measure what the mind may well contain; Oppresses else with surfeit, and soon turns Wisdom to folly, as nourishment to wind.
Page 296 - The red-bird warbled, as he wrought His hanging nest o'erhead, And fearless, near the fatal spot, Her young the partridge led. But there was weeping far away, And gentle eyes, for him, With watching many an anxious day, Were sorrowful and dim.
Page 449 - I could never hear the AveMary bell* without an elevation, or think it a sufficient warrant, because they erred in one circumstance, for me to err in all, that is, in silence and dumb contempt ; whilst therefore they directed their devotions to her, I offered mine to God, and rectified the errors of their prayers, by rightly ordering mine own.
Page 296 - The mountain wolf and wild-cat stole To banquet on the dead ; — Nor how, when strangers found his bones, They dressed the hasty bier, And marked his grave with nameless stones, Unmoistened by a tear. But long they looked, and feared, and wept, Within his distant home ; And dreamed, and started as they slept, For joy that he was come.

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