Blackwood's Lady's Magazine and Gazette of the Fashionable World, Or, St. James's Court-register of Belles Lettres, Fine Arts, Music, Drama, Fashions, &c, Volumes 30-31
A.H. Blackwood, G. Simpkin, and J. Page, 1851 - Great Britain
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Page 68 - But, oh, th' exceeding grace Of highest God ! that loves his creatures so, And all his works with mercy doth embrace, That blessed angels he sends to and fro, To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe. How oft do they their silver bowers leave To come to succour us, that succour want ! How oft do they with golden pinions cleave The flitting skies, like flying pursuivant, Against foul fiends to aid us militant ! They for us fight, they watch and duly ward, And their bright squadrons round about...
Page 180 - Heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate, All but the page prescribed, their present state: From brutes what men, from men what spirits know: Or who could suffer being here below? The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed today, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play? Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.
Page 222 - And should my youth, as youth is apt, I know, Some harshness show, All vain asperities, I, day by day, Would wear away, Till the smooth temper of my age should be Like the high leaves upon the holly...
Page 160 - But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown ? K. Hen. My crown is in my heart, not on my head ; Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, Nor to be seen : my crown is called content ; A crown it is, that seldom kings enjoy.
Page 100 - Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore Alone upon the threshold of my door Of individual life, I shall command The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand Serenely in the sunshine as before, Without the sense of that which I forbore, . . Thy touch upon the palm.
Page 106 - Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death?
Page 99 - I LIFT my heavy heart up solemnly, As once Electra her sepulchral urn, And, looking in thine eyes, I overturn The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see What a great heap of grief lay hid in me, And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn Through the ashen greyness.
Page 141 - Why should we thus, with an untoward mind, And in the weakness of humanity, From natural wisdom turn our hearts away; To natural comfort shut our eyes and ears; And, feeding on disquiet, thus disturb The calm of nature with our restless thoughts?
Page 100 - First time he kissed me, he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write; And ever since, it grew more clean and white, Slow to world-greetings, quick with its "Oh, list," When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst I could not wear here, plainer to my sight, Than that first kiss. The second passed in height The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed, Half falling on the hair.