Blackwood's Magazine, Band 66

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William Blackwood, 1849
 

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Seite 605 - Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off...
Seite 592 - Golden opinions from all sorts of people, Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, Not cast aside so soon. Lady M. Was the hope drunk Wherein you dress'd yourself ? hath it slept since ? And wakes it now, to look so green and pale At what it did so freely ? From this time Such I account thy love. Art thou...
Seite 614 - She should have died hereafter ; There would have been a time for such a word. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death.
Seite 607 - Infirm of purpose ! Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead Are but as pictures; 'tis the eye of childhood That fears a painted devil.
Seite 237 - THE CURFEW tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
Seite 366 - To the broad column which rolls on, and shows More like the fountain of an infant sea Torn from the womb of mountains by the throes Of a new world, than only thus to be Parent of rivers, which flow gushingly, With many windings, through the vale!
Seite 287 - After laying down my pen, I took several turns in a berceau, or covered walk of acacias, which commands a prospect of the country, the lake, and the mountains. The air was temperate, the sky was serene, the silver orb of the moon was reflected from the waters, and all nature was silent.
Seite 246 - In the most high and palmy state of Rome, A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets...
Seite 597 - Cannot be ill, cannot be good : — if ill, Why hath it given me earnest of success, Commencing in a truth ? I am thane of Cawdor : If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, Against the use of nature ? Present fears Are less than horrible imaginings : My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man, that function Is smother'd in surmise, and nothing is But what is not.
Seite 287 - But my pride was soon humbled, and a sober melancholy was spread over my mind, by the idea that I had taken an everlasting leave of an old and agreeable companion, and that whatsoever might be the future fate of my History, the life of the historian must be short and precarious.

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