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The Edinburgh Literary Journal: Or, Weekly Register of Criticism and ..., Том 4
Повний перегляд - 1830
appear ARY Journal auld beautiful better Boabdil called character clan Mackay Cravat cuckoo dark death delightful Edinburgh Edinburgh Review Editor English engraved eyes fair favour feel French friends genius ginal give Glasgow Greenock hand happy heard heart heaven honour hope Innerleithen interesting Italy Journal King lady Lady Morgan land language light literary living London look Lord Lord Byron manner ment mind Miss nature never night o'er once original painted person pleasure poem poet poetry possess present racter readers remarkable respect round scarcely scene Scotland Scottish seems seen sing Sir Walter Scott smile song soul spirit story style sweet talent taste Theatre thee thing Thomas Hood thou thought tion volume whole words write young
Сторінка 127 - The hills Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, - the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woods - rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste, Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man.
Сторінка 127 - When thoughts Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Over thy spirit, and sad images Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house...
Сторінка 127 - So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw In silence from the living, and no friend Take note of thy departure? All that breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee.
Сторінка 127 - Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart, Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings, while from all around — Earth, and her waters, and the depths of air — Comes a still voice...
Сторінка 183 - Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth! 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.
Сторінка 127 - Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashings — yet the dead are there ! And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone.
Сторінка 128 - And what if cheerful shouts at noon Come, from the village sent, Or songs of maids, beneath the moon With fairy laughter blent? And what if, in the evening light, Betrothed lovers walk in sight Of my low monument? I would the lovely scene around Might know no sadder sight nor sound.
Сторінка 127 - Where thy pale form was laid with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean shall exist Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim Thy growth to be resolved to earth again; And, lost each human trace, surrendering up Thine individual being...