The American Monthly Magazine and Critical Review, Volumen1H. Biglow, Orville Luther Holley H. Bigelow, Esq., editor and proprietor, 1817 |
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Página 6
... thou , Scott , by vain conceit per . chance , On public taste to foist thy stale romance , Though Murray with his Miller should com- bine To yield thy muse just half - a - crown per line ? No , when the sons of song descend to trade ...
... thou , Scott , by vain conceit per . chance , On public taste to foist thy stale romance , Though Murray with his Miller should com- bine To yield thy muse just half - a - crown per line ? No , when the sons of song descend to trade ...
Página 9
... thou been betwixt , Thy throne had still been thine , or never been ; For daring made thy rise as fall : thou seek'st Even now to re - assume the imperial mien , And shake again the world , the thunderer of the Scene ! " P. 22 . a ...
... thou been betwixt , Thy throne had still been thine , or never been ; For daring made thy rise as fall : thou seek'st Even now to re - assume the imperial mien , And shake again the world , the thunderer of the Scene ! " P. 22 . a ...
Página 17
... prior of the con . dour , and among those happy inspiring vent , Count Bertram reveals himself ; VOL . I. NO . I. C Pray , when thou tell'st thy beads , for one 1817 . 17 Maturin's Bertram , or Custle of St. Aldobrand .
... prior of the con . dour , and among those happy inspiring vent , Count Bertram reveals himself ; VOL . I. NO . I. C Pray , when thou tell'st thy beads , for one 1817 . 17 Maturin's Bertram , or Custle of St. Aldobrand .
Página 18
... Thou shalt not go Imo . Shall not ! -Who art thou ? speak- Ber .. And must I speak ? There was a voice which all the world , but thee , Might have forgot , and been forgiven . and makes a full declaration with all the bitterness and ...
... Thou shalt not go Imo . Shall not ! -Who art thou ? speak- Ber .. And must I speak ? There was a voice which all the world , but thee , Might have forgot , and been forgiven . and makes a full declaration with all the bitterness and ...
Página 19
... thou art lost . " What was a father ? could a father's love " Compare with mine ? " in want , and war , and peril ... Thou tremblest lest I curse thec ; tremble not Though thou hast made me , woman , very wretched- Though thou hast made ...
... thou art lost . " What was a father ? could a father's love " Compare with mine ? " in want , and war , and peril ... Thou tremblest lest I curse thec ; tremble not Though thou hast made me , woman , very wretched- Though thou hast made ...
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Pasajes populares
Página 10 - At intervals, some bird from out the brakes Starts into voice a moment, then is still. There seems a floating whisper on the hill, But that is fancy, for the starlight dews All silently their tears of love instil, Weeping themselves away, till they infuse Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues.
Página 296 - No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, 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 of the dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
Página 296 - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow! 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.
Página 296 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest With his martial cloak around him.
Página 296 - Oh ! when a Mother meets on high The Babe she lost in infancy, Hath she not then, for pains and fears, The day of woe, the watchful night, For all her sorrow, all her tears, An over-payment of delight...
Página 349 - Nor look'd upon the earth with human eyes ; The thirst of their ambition was not mine, The aim of their existence was not mine ; My joys, my griefs, my passions, and my powers, Made me a stranger ; though I wore the form, I had no sympathy with breathing flesh, Nor midst the creatures of clay that girded me Was there but one who but of her anon.
Página 9 - twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet But hark!
Página 296 - Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.
Página 349 - Or to look, list'ning, on the scattered leaves, While Autumn winds were at their evening song. These were my pastimes, and to be alone ; For if the beings, of whom I was one, — Hating to be so, — cross'd me in my path, I felt myself degraded back to them, And was all clay again.
Página 422 - I stoop not to despair; For I have battled with mine agony, And made me wings wherewith to overfly The narrow circus of my dungeon wall...