The Edinburgh monthly magazine [afterw.] Blackwood's Edinburgh magazine [afterw.] Blackwood's magazine, Volume 1

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Page 285 - Syria's thousand minarets ! The boy has started from the bed Of flowers where he had laid his head, And down upon the fragrant sod Kneels, with his forehead to the south, Lisping th...
Page 345 - Jove Now burns with glory, and then melts with love; Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow, Now sighs steal out, and tears begin to flow: Persians and Greeks like turns of nature found. And the world's victor stood subdued by sound!
Page 295 - Leaving that beautiful which still was so, And making that which was not, till the place Became religion, and the heart ran o'er With silent worship of the great of old,— The dead but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule Our spirits from their urns.
Page 271 - Love had he found in huts where poor Men lie : His daily Teachers had been Woods and Rills, The silence that is in the starry sky, The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
Page 393 - That sometime grew within this learned man. Faustus is gone ; regard his hellish fall, Whose fiendful fortune may exhort the wise, Only to wonder at unlawful things, Whose deepness doth entice such forward wits To practise more than heavenly power permits.
Page 284 - PARADISE AND THE PERI. ONE morn a Peri at the gate Of Eden stood, disconsolate : And as she listen'd to the Springs Of Life within, like music flowing, And caught the light upon her wings Through the half-open portal glowing, She wept to think her recreant race Should e'er have lost that glorious place !
Page 292 - And you, ye Crags, upon whose extreme edge I stand, and on the torrent's brink beneath Behold the tall pines dwindled as to shrubs In dizziness of distance ; when a leap, A stir, a motion, even a breath, would bring My breast upon its rocky bosom's bed To rest for ever...
Page 278 - With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And -we spoke not a word of sorrow; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
Page 278 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.
Page 278 - Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.

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