Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 117

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William Blackwood, 1875
 

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Page 344 - Still glides the Stream, and shall for ever glide; The Form remains, the Function never dies ; While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise, We Men, who in our morn of youth defied The elements, must vanish ; be it so ! Enough, if something from our hands have power To live, and act, and serve the future hour ; And if, as toward the silent tomb we go, Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know.
Page 727 - Never, lago. Like to the Pontic sea, Whose icy current and compulsive course Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on To the Propontic and the Hellespont ; Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace, Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love. Till that a capable and wide revenge Swallow them up. Now, by yond marble heaven, In the due reverence of a sacred vow {Kneels, I here engage my words.
Page 726 - Pray, do not mock me : I am a very foolish fond old man, Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less; And, to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind.
Page 725 - How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica. Look, how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold; There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins: Such harmony is in immortal souls; But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we...
Page 716 - With bated breath, and whispering humbleness, Say this: "Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last; You spurned me such a day ; another time You called me dog; and for these courtesies I'll lend you thus much moneys ?
Page 715 - Signior Antonio, many a time and oft In the Rialto you have rated me About my moneys and my usances : Still have I borne it with a patient shrug, For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe. You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog, And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine, And all for use of that which is mine own. Well, then, it now appears you need my help. Go to, then ; you come to me, and you say, Shylock, we would have moneys...
Page 727 - Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod...
Page 726 - I'd use them so That heaven's vault should crack. She's gone for ever ! I know when one is dead, and when one lives ; She's dead as earth. Lend me a looking-glass ; If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, Why, then she lives.
Page 725 - O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
Page 716 - Oh, thou art fairer than the evening air Clad in, the beauty of a thousand stars...

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