The New Monthly Magazine and Literary Journal, Volumen31

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Henry Colburn and Company, 1831
 

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Página 291 - Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are ; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear...
Página 291 - The Epipsychidion is a mystery ; as to real flesh and blood, you know that I do not deal in those articles ; you might as well go to a ginshop for a leg of mutton, as expect anything human or earthly from me.
Página 233 - Thoughts of great deeds were mine, dear Friend, when first The clouds which wrap this world from youth did pass. I do remember well the hour which burst My spirit's sleep : a fresh May-dawn it was, When I walked forth upon the glittering grass, And wept, I knew not why: until there rose From the near school-room, voices, that, alas!
Página 236 - No one knows better than their real author, that his opinions and mine differ materially upon the metaphysical portion of that work ; though in common with all who are not blinded by baseness and bigotry, I highly admire the poetry of that and his other publications.
Página 236 - I have not seen this production for several years ; I doubt not but that it is perfectly worthless in point of literary composition ; and that in all that concerns moral and political speculation, as well as in the subtler discriminations of metaphysical and religious doctrine, it is still more crude and immature.
Página 292 - He was the most gentle, most amiable, and least worldly-minded person I ever met; full of delicacy, disinterested beyond all other men, and possessing a degree of genius, joined to a simplicity, as rare as it is admirable. He had formed to himself a beau ideal of all that is fine, high-minded, and noble, and he acted up to this ideal even to the very letter.
Página 233 - I do remember well the hour which burst My spirit's sleep. A fresh May-dawn it was, When I walked forth upon the glittering grass, And wept, I knew not why : until there rose From the near schoolroom voices that, alas! Were but one echo from a world of woes — The harsh and grating strife of tyrants and of foes.
Página 401 - Now sing ye the death-song, and loudly pray For the soul of my Knight so dear ; And call me a widow this wretched day, Since the warning of God is here ! For...
Página 290 - ALAS ! good friend, what profit can you see In hating such a hateless thing as me ? There is no sport in hate where all the rage Is on one side. In vain would you assuage Your frowns upon an unresisting smile, In which not even contempt lurks, to beguile Your heart, by some faint sympathy of hate.
Página 233 - I will be wise, And just, and free, and mild, if in me lies Such power, for I grow weary to behold The selfish and the strong still tyrannize Without reproach or check.

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