Atheneum, Or, Spirit of the English Magazines, Volume 10

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Munroe and Francis, 1821
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Page 441 - O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim...
Page 333 - And the angel came in unto her, and said, Hail, thou that art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee : blessed art thou among women.
Page 14 - The night is come, like to the day Depart not thou great God away ! Let not my sins, black as the night, Eclipse the lustre of thy light ; Keep still in my horizon, for to me The sun makes not the day, but thee. Thou whose nature cannot sleep, On my temples sentry keep ; Guard me 'gainst those watchful foes, Whose eyes are open while mine close ; Let no dreams my head infest, But such as Jacob's temples blest. While I do rest, my soul advance, Make my sleep a holy trance, That I may, my...
Page 441 - As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu ! adieu ! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades : Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music: — do I wake or sleep?
Page 441 - Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy!
Page 115 - Ask me why this flower does show So yellow-green, and sickly too ? Ask me why the stalk is weak And bending (yet it doth not break) ? I will answer : These discover What fainting hopes are in a lover.
Page 441 - I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown : Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth...
Page 14 - While I do rest, my soul advance: Make my sleep a holy trance: That I may, my rest being wrought, Awake into some holy thought, And with as active vigour run My course, as doth the nimble sun.
Page 14 - Sleep is a death, O make me try. By sleeping, what it is to die ; And as gently lay my head On my grave, as now my bed.
Page 81 - AND thou hast walked about (how strange a story!) In Thebes's streets three thousand years ago, When the Memnonium was in all its glory, And time had not begun to overthrow Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous Of which the very ruins are tremendous.

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