Macmillan's Magazine, Том 3

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Macmillan and Company, 1861

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Сторінка 62 - tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly: If the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, 'With his surcease, success ; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here. But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, — We'd jump the life to come...
Сторінка 441 - But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings ; Blank misgivings of a creature Moving about in worlds not realized...
Сторінка 8 - Dilke upon various subjects ; several things dove-tailed in my mind, and at once it struck me what quality went to form a man of achievement, especially in literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously — I mean negative capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.
Сторінка 9 - To this point was Wordsworth come, as far as I can conceive, when he wrote "Tintern Abbey," and it seems to me that his Genius is explorative of those dark Passages. Now if we live, and go on thinking, we too shall explore them. He is a Genius and superior to us, in so far as he can, more than we, make discoveries and shed a light in them. Here I must think Wordsworth is deeper than Milton, though I think it has depended more upon the general and gregarious advance of intellect than individual greatness...
Сторінка 130 - Last night, among his fellow roughs, He jested, quaffed, and swore, A drunken private of the Buffs, Who never looked before. To-day, beneath the foeman's frown, He stands in Elgin's place, Ambassador from Britain's crown, And type of all her race.
Сторінка 498 - My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a watered shoot: My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit; My IK.II [ is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea; My heart is gladder than all these Because my love is come to me.
Сторінка 14 - O THOU, whose mighty palace roof doth hang From jagged trunks, and overshadoweth Eternal whispers, glooms, the birth, life, death Of unseen flowers in heavy peacefulness ; Who lov'st to see the hamadryads dress Their ruffled locks where meeting hazels darken ; And through whole solemn hours dost sit, and hearken The dreary melody of bedded reeds—- In desolate places, where dank moisture breeds The pipy hemlock to strange overgrowth ; Bethinking thee, how melancholy loth Thou wast to lose fair Syrinx...
Сторінка 124 - THE WANING MOON AND like a dying lady, lean and pale, Who totters forth, wrapt in a gauzy veil, Out of her chamber, led by the insane And feeble wanderings of her fading brain, The moon arose up in the murky east, A white and shapeless mass.
Сторінка 325 - Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak ? Of labour you shall find the sum. Will there be beds for me and all who seek ? Yea, beds for all who come.
Сторінка 498 - MY HEART is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a watered shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea; My heart is gladder than all these Because my love is come to me.

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