The North British Review, Volym 43

Framsida
W.P. Kennedy, 1865
 

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Sida 312 - My shaping spirit of Imagination. For not to think of what I needs must feel But to be still and patient, all I can; And haply by abstruse research to steal From my own nature all the natural man — This was my sole resource, my only plan; Till that which suits a part infects the whole, And now is almost grown the habit of my soul.
Sida 278 - Jamblichus, or Plotinus (for even in those years thou waxedst not pale at such philosophic draughts), or reciting Homer in his Greek, or Pindar— —while the walls of the old Grey Friars re-echoed to the accents of the inspired charity-boy! — Many were the "wit-combats...
Sida 492 - When buttress and buttress, alternately, Seem framed of ebon and ivory; When silver edges the imagery, And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die: ; When distant Tweed is heard to rave, And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave, Then go — but go alone the while — Then view St. David's ruin'd pile ; And, home returning, soothly swear, Was never scene so sad and fair ! II.
Sida 490 - Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses, whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future predominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking beings.
Sida 313 - Our observation employed either about external sensible objects, or about the internal operations of our minds, perceived and reflected on by ourselves, is that which supplies our understandings with all the materials of thinking. These two are the fountains of knowledge from whence all the ideas we have or can naturally have do spring.
Sida 284 - The preacher then launched into his subject like an eagle dallying with the wind. The sermon was upon peace and war ; upon church and state — not their alliance but their separation — on the spirit of the world and the spirit of Christianity, not as the same, but as opposed to one another. He talked of those who had " inscribed the cross of Christ on banners dripping with human gore.
Sida 307 - Or throne of corses which his sword hath slain ? Greatness and goodness are not means but ends ! Hath he not always treasures, always friends, The good great man ? Three treasures,- love and light, And calm thoughts regular as infant's breath : And three firm friends, more sure than day and night, Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death.
Sida 106 - Fontenoy, the blood of the mountaineers who were slaughtered at Culloden. The evils produced by his wickedness were felt in lands where the name of Prussia was unknown ; and, in order that he might rob a neighbor whom he had promised to defend, black men fought on the coast of Coromandel, and red men scalped each other by the great lakes of North America.
Sida 51 - We have but faith: we cannot know, For knowledge is of things we see; And yet we trust it comes from thee, A beam in darkness: let it grow.
Sida 463 - Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss Though winning near the goal — yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair: Ah, happy, happy boughs!

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