The St. James's Magazine, Band 8

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W. Kent, 1863

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Seite 41 - The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play ? Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.
Seite 442 - Here she was wont to go ! and here ! and here ! Just where those daisies, pinks, and violets grow : The world may find the spring by following her, For other print her airy steps ne'er left. Her treading would not bend a blade of grass, Or shake the downy blow-ball from his stalk ! But like the soft west wind she shot along, And where she went, the flowers took thickest root, As she had sowed them with her odorous foot.
Seite 215 - Fillet of a fenny snake, In the cauldron boil and bake : Eye of newt, and toe of frog, Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing, For a charm of powerful trouble ; Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. All. Double, double, toil and trouble ; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble. 3 Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf; Witches...
Seite 445 - UPON A CHILD THAT DIED. Here she lies, a pretty bud, Lately made of flesh and blood ; Who as soon fell fast asleep As her little eyes did peep. Give her strewings, but not stir The earth that lightly covers her ! EPITAPH UPON A CHILD.
Seite 453 - Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie Thy Soul's immensity ; Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,@ Mighty Prophet! Seer blest! On whom those truths do rest, Which we are toiling all our lives to find, In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave...
Seite 453 - Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, Haunted for ever by the eternal Mind, — Mighty Prophet! Seer blest! On whom those truths do rest Which we are toiling all our lives to find, In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave; Thou, over whom thy immortality Broods like the day, a master o'er a slave, A Presence which is not to be put by...
Seite 446 - GRACE FOR A CHILD. HERE a little child I stand. Heaving up my either hand: Cold as paddocks though they be, Here I lift them up to thee, For a benizon to fall On our meat, and on us all.
Seite 82 - From hers th' allay ; from mine, the metal take. — Cowley. THE POETICAL PROPAGATION OF LIGHT. The Prince's favour is diffus'd o'er all, From which all fortunes, names, and natures fall ; Then from those wombs of stars, the Bride's bright eyes, At every glance a constellation flies, And sows the court with stars, and doth prevent In light and power, the all-ey'd firmament : First her eye kindles other ladies' eyes, Then from their beams their jewels' lustres rise ; And from their jewels torches...
Seite 448 - TIMELY blossom, Infant fair, Fondling of a happy pair, Every morn and every night Their solicitous delight, Sleeping, waking, still at ease, Pleasing, without skill to please ; Little gossip, blithe and hale, Tattling many a broken tale, Singing many a tuneless song, Lavish of a heedless tongue ; Simple maiden, void of art, Babbling out the very heart, Yet abandon'd to thy will, Yet imagining no ill, Yet too innocent to blush...
Seite 446 - Go, pretty child, and bear this flower Unto thy little Saviour ; And tell him, by that bud now blown, He is the Rose of Sharon known. When thou hast said so, stick it there Upon his bib or stomacher ; And tell him, for good handsel too, That thou hast brought a whistle new, Made of a clean strait oaten reed, To charm his cries at time of need.

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