New Monthly Magazine, Volume 66

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Thomas Campbell, Samuel Carter Hall, Edward Bulwer Lytton Baron Lytton, Theodore Edward Hook, Thomas Hood, William Harrison Ainsworth
Henry Colburn, 1842

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Page 489 - Nor set down aught in malice: then must you speak Of one that loved not wisely but too well ; Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought Perplex'd in the extreme; of one whose hand, Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away Richer than all his tribe...
Page 267 - The work of a correct and regular writer is a garden accurately formed and diligently planted, varied with shades and scented with flowers. The composition of Shakespeare is a forest in which oaks extend their branches and pines tower in the air, interspersed sometimes with weeds and brambles and sometimes giving shelter to myrtles and to roses; filling the eye with awful pomp and gratifying the mind with endless diversity.
Page 360 - Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes; Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm; Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey.
Page 344 - This was the noblest Roman of them all : All the conspirators, save only he, Did that they did in envy of great Caesar; He only, in a general honest thought, And common good to all, made one of them. His life was gentle; and the elements So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, This was a man!
Page 489 - No more of that. I pray you, in your letters, When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, Speak of me as I am ; nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice...
Page 158 - Boughs are daily rifled By the gusty thieves, And the Book of Nature Getteth short of leaves.
Page 258 - A place for every thing, and every thing in its place," is the •veteran bachelor's fundamental law, and the first canon of the anchorite of chambers.
Page 522 - And now." cried he, making us all sit down again, " where are my rascals of servants ? I sha'n't be in time for the ball ; besides...
Page 489 - O my love ! my wife ! Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty : Thou art not conquer'd ; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
Page 8 - Bedew'd with tears of gum— Fierce agonies that ought to yell, But, like the marble, dumb. Nay, yonder blasted Elm that stands So like a man of sin, Who, frantic, flings his arms abroad To feel the worm within— For all that gesture, so intense, It makes no sort of din! An universal silence reigns In rugged bark or peel, Except that very trunk which rings Beneath the biting steel— 433 ! Meanwhile the Woodman plies his axe With unrelenting zeal!

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