The American Monthly Magazine and Critical Review, Volym 1H. Biglow, Orville Luther Holley H. Bigelow, Esq., editor and proprietor, 1817 |
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Sida 7
... British Critic . of Lord Byron and of his muse , we should have heard no more , till time , at least , and meditation , should have mellowed the power of his song . But enlarged the soul of the poet , and a very few months since his ...
... British Critic . of Lord Byron and of his muse , we should have heard no more , till time , at least , and meditation , should have mellowed the power of his song . But enlarged the soul of the poet , and a very few months since his ...
Sida 12
... British Review , not so If'genius ' were merely a divergency much on account of the importance of from the standard of common sense , Mr. the piece of which it professes to treat , Coleridge's claim to it would be incon- ( which is ...
... British Review , not so If'genius ' were merely a divergency much on account of the importance of from the standard of common sense , Mr. the piece of which it professes to treat , Coleridge's claim to it would be incon- ( which is ...
Sida 16
... British Reviewers , to whom we are indebted for the remarks on this Drama , bave very justly availed them- selves of so fair an opportunity to ani- madvert on the gross indecorum of making the solemnity of prayer a mat- ter of mimicry ...
... British Reviewers , to whom we are indebted for the remarks on this Drama , bave very justly availed them- selves of so fair an opportunity to ani- madvert on the gross indecorum of making the solemnity of prayer a mat- ter of mimicry ...
Sida 23
... British metropolis . We But still , we are reproached because we have produced so few authors , -let their merits be as they may . We sus- pect that the old leaven of the original error in regard to this country is at the bottom of this ...
... British metropolis . We But still , we are reproached because we have produced so few authors , -let their merits be as they may . We sus- pect that the old leaven of the original error in regard to this country is at the bottom of this ...
Sida 29
... British Critic bestowed upon it an honourable praise . A fair copy , fully written out , in the beautiful hand for which the au- thor was , in early life , distinguished , is still in possession of his family , and will , doubtless , be ...
... British Critic bestowed upon it an honourable praise . A fair copy , fully written out , in the beautiful hand for which the au- thor was , in early life , distinguished , is still in possession of his family , and will , doubtless , be ...
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The American Monthly Magazine and Critical Review, Volym 1 H. Biglow,Orville Luther Holley Obegränsad förhandsgranskning - 1817 |
The American Monthly Magazine and Critical Review, Volym 2 H. Biglow,Orville Luther Holley Obegränsad förhandsgranskning - 1817 |
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Sida 10 - At intervals, some bird from out the brakes Starts into voice a moment, then is still. There seems a floating whisper on the hill, But that is fancy, for the starlight dews All silently their tears of love instil, Weeping themselves away, till they infuse Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues.
Sida 296 - No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
Sida 296 - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
Sida 296 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest With his martial cloak around him.
Sida 296 - Oh ! when a Mother meets on high The Babe she lost in infancy, Hath she not then, for pains and fears, The day of woe, the watchful night, For all her sorrow, all her tears, An over-payment of delight...
Sida 349 - Nor look'd upon the earth with human eyes ; The thirst of their ambition was not mine, The aim of their existence was not mine ; My joys, my griefs, my passions, and my powers, Made me a stranger ; though I wore the form, I had no sympathy with breathing flesh, Nor midst the creatures of clay that girded me Was there but one who but of her anon.
Sida 9 - twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet But hark!
Sida 296 - Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.
Sida 349 - Or to look, list'ning, on the scattered leaves, While Autumn winds were at their evening song. These were my pastimes, and to be alone ; For if the beings, of whom I was one, — Hating to be so, — cross'd me in my path, I felt myself degraded back to them, And was all clay again.
Sida 422 - I stoop not to despair; For I have battled with mine agony, And made me wings wherewith to overfly The narrow circus of my dungeon wall...