The English Illustrated Magazine

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Macmillan and Company, 1887
 

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Seite 536 - LIKE as the damask rose you see, Or like the blossom on the tree, Or like the dainty flower of May, Or like the morning of the day, Or like the sun, or like the shade, Or like the gourd which Jonas had; Even such is man, whose thread is spun, Drawn out, and cut, and so is done. The rose withers, the blossom blasteth, The flower fades, the morning hasteth, The sun sets, the shadow flies, The gourd consumes, and man — he dies!
Seite 327 - I have some favourite flowers in spring, among which are the mountain-daisy, the harebell, the foxglove, the wild-brier rose, the budding birch, and the hoary hawthorn, that I view and hang over with particular delight.
Seite 327 - ... morning, without feeling an elevation of soul like the enthusiasm of devotion or poetry. Tell me, my dear friend, to what can this be owing ? Are we a piece of machinery, which, like the ^Eolian harp, passive, takes the impression of the passing accident; or do these workings argue something within us above the trodden clod...
Seite 327 - There is scarcely any earthly object gives me more — I do not know if I should call it pleasure — but something which exalts me, something which enraptures me — than to walk in the sheltered side of a wood, or high plantation, in a cloudy winter-day, and hear the stormy wind howling among the trees, and raving over the plain.
Seite 263 - On Lough Neagh's bank as the fisherman strays, When the clear, cold eve's declining, He sees the round towers of other days, In the wave beneath him shining! Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime, Catch a glimpse of the days that are over, Thus, sighing, look through the waves of time For the long-faded glories they cover!
Seite 302 - And so she sings her fill, Singing most joyfully, Till the spindle drops from her hand, And the whizzing wheel stands still. She steals to the window, and looks at the sand, And over the sand at the sea; And her eyes are set in a stare...
Seite 327 - JEolian harp, passive, takes the impression of the passing accident; or do these workings argue something within us above the trodden clod? I own myself partial to such proofs of those awful and important realities: a God that made all things, man's immaterial and immortal nature, and a world of weal or woe beyond death and the grave.
Seite 333 - I recollect once he told me, when I was admiring a distant prospect in one of our morning walks, that the sight of so many smoking cottages gave a pleasure to his mind, which none could understand who had not witnessed, like himself, the happiness and the worth which they contained.
Seite 530 - Our horses faintly trot beneath the heat, And our keen stomachs know the hour to eat. Who can forsake thy walls, and not admire The proud cathedral, and the lofty spire ? What sempstress has not proved thy scissors good ? From hence first came th
Seite 131 - IN A GARDEN. BABY, see the flowers ! — Baby sees Fairer things than these, Fairer though they be than dreams of ours. Baby, hear the birds ! — Baby knows Better songs than those, Sweeter though they sound than sweetest words. Baby, see the moon ! — Baby's eyes Laugh to watch it rise, Answering light with love and night with noon. Baby, hear the sea ! — Baby's face Takes a graver grace, Touched with wonder what the sound may be. Baby, see the star ! — Baby's hand Opens, warm and bland, Calm...

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