Macmillan's Magazine, Volume 43

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Macmillan and Company, 1881 - English periodicals
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Page 402 - For, lo, the winter is past, The rain is over and gone; The flowers appear on the earth; The time of the singing of birds is come, And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land; The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, And the vines with the tender grape give a good smell, Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
Page 376 - He heard it, but he heeded not ; his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away ; He recked not of the life he lost, nor prize ; But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother, — he, their sire, Butchered to make a Roman holiday.
Page 240 - Revenge with a swarthier alien crew, And away she sail'd with her loss and long'd for her own ; When a wind from the lands they had ruin'd awoke from sleep, And the water began to heave and the weather to moan, And or ever that evening ended a great gale blew, And a wave like the wave that is raised by an earthquake grew, Till it smote on their hulls and their sails and their masts and their flags, And the whole sea plunged and fell on the shotshatter'd navy of Spain, And the little Revenge herself...
Page 29 - I do not think that the religious sentiment was ever strongly developed in me), to the firm conviction of the existence of God, and of the immortality of the soul. In...
Page 122 - Who : and what a track showed the upturned sod ! Mindful were the shepherds as now the noon severe Bent a burning eyebrow to brown evetide, How the rustic flute drew the silver to the sphere, Sister of his own, till her rays fell wide. God ! of whom music And song and blood are pure, The day is never darkened That had thee here obscure.
Page 242 - Madam, I beg your pardon ! I think that you mean to be kind, But I cannot hear what you say for my Willy's voice in the wind — The snow and the sky so bright — he used but to call in the dark, And he calls to me now from the church and not from the gibbet — for hark ! Nay — you can hear it yourself — it is coming — shaking the walls — Willy — the moon's in a cloud — Goodnight. I am going. He calls.
Page 402 - Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away ! for, lo ! the winter is past, the rain is over and gone, the flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land. The fig-tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grapes give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away!
Page 376 - The way out of the false state of things which enraged him he did not see, — the slow and laborious way upward; he had not the patience, knowledge, self-discipline, virtue, requisite for seeing it. True, also, as a poet, he has no fine and exact sense for word and structure and rhythm; he has not...
Page 375 - The king-times are fast finishing. There will be blood shed like water, and tears like mist ; but the peoples will conquer in the end. I shall not live to see it, but I foresee it.
Page 376 - Among thy mightier offerings here are mine ! not a tribute of boundless homage certainly, but sincere ; a tribute which consists not in covering the poet with eloquent eulogy of our own, but in letting him, at his best and greatest, speak for himself. Surely the critic who does most for his author is the critic who gains readers for his author himself, not for any lucubrations on his author ; — gains more readers for him, and enables those readers to read him with more admiration.

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