The Analectic Magazine ...: Comprising Original Reviews, Biography, Analytical Abstracts of New Publications, Translations from French Journals, and Selections from the Most Esteemed British Reviews, Volume 4
James Maxwell, 1814
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Page 437 - O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave? On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Page 437 - Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming. Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming? And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
Page 426 - Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And while the bubbling and loud hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
Page 110 - Is aught so fair In all the dewy landscapes of the spring, In the bright eye of Hesper or the Morn, In Nature's fairest forms, is aught so fair As virtuous Friendship ? as the candid blush Of him who strives with fortune to be just ? The graceful tear that streams for others...
Page 424 - Far from all resort of mirth, Save the cricket on the hearth, Or the bellman's drowsy charm, To bless the doors from nightly harm...
Page 437 - Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave: And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
Page 438 - Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation. Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just ; And this be our motto :
Page 432 - When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn, That ten day-labourers could not end; Then lies him down, the lubber fiend, And, stretched out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength; And crop-full out of doors he flings, Ere the first cock his matin rings.
Page 294 - Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled — You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.
Page 350 - Slave of the mine ! thy yellow light Gleams baleful as the tomb-fire drear. A gentle vision comes by night My lonely widowed heart to cheer : Her eyes are dim with many a tear, That once were guiding stars to mine ; Her fond heart throbs with many a fear ! I cannot bear to see thee shine.