Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 41

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W. Blackwood & Sons, 1837 - Scotland
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Page 435 - But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of light His reign of peace upon the earth began...
Page 167 - Toss the light ball — bestride the stick, (I knew so many cakes would make him sick !) With fancies buoyant as the thistle down, Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk, With many a lamb-like frisk, (He's got the scissors, snipping at your gown.) Thou pretty opening rose...
Page 516 - So ye shall not pollute the land wherein ye are: for blood it defileth the land: and the land cannot be cleansed of the blood that is shed therein, but by the blood of him that shed it.
Page 435 - Twas in the calm and silent night ! The senator of haughty Rome Impatient urged his chariot's flight, From lordly revel rolling home : Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell His breast with thoughts of boundless sway ; What recked the Roman what befell A paltry province far away, In the solemn midnight, Centuries ago?
Page 435 - How keen the stars, his only thought — The air how calm, and cold, and thin, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago ! Oh, strange indifference ! low and high Drowsed over common joys and cares ; The earth was still — but knew not why The world was listening, unawares. How calm a moment may precede One that shall thrill the world for ever ! To that still moment none would heed, Man's doom was linked no more to sever...
Page 516 - MAN, that is born of a woman, hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down like a flower ; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay.
Page 435 - No war, or battle's sound Was heard the world around : The idle spear and shield were high up hung ; The hooked chariot stood Unstain'd with hostile blood; The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; And kings sat still with awful eye, As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by.
Page 516 - O Lord God most holy, O Lord most mighty, O holy and most merciful Saviour, deliver us not into the bitter pains of eternal death.
Page 396 - Seasons" does not contain a single new image of external nature; and scarcely presents a familiar one from which it can be .inferred that the eye of the Poet had been steadily fixed upon his object, much less that his feelings had urged him to work upon it in the spirit of genuine imagination.
Page 10 - I had the honour to lend you the other night at play; and which I shall be much obliged to you if you will let me have some time either to-day or to-morrow. I am sir, Your most obedient, most humble servant, GEORGE TRENT.

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