The Edinburgh Review, 第 123 卷

封面
A. and C. Black, 1866
 

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第178页 - This royal infant, — heaven still move about her! — Though in her cradle, yet now promises Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings, Which time shall bring to ripeness. She shall be (But few now living can behold that goodness) A pattern to all princes living with her, And all that shall succeed...
第381页 - SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love. A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye ! — Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky.
第368页 - Of his chamber in the east. Meanwhile, welcome joy and feast, Midnight shout and revelry, Tipsy dance and jollity.
第382页 - Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing die.
第169页 - At a fair vestal throned by the west, And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow, As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon, And the imperial votaress passed on, In maiden meditation, fancy-free.
第379页 - Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds, At last he beat his music out. — • There lives more faith in honest doubt, Believe me, than in half the creeds.
第382页 - Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves, when he did sing: To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung ; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring.
第369页 - Wisdom's self Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude ; Where, with her best nurse, Contemplation, She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings, That in the various bustle of resort Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impair'd. He that has light within his own clear breast, May sit i...
第156页 - Shakespeare was godfather to one of Ben Jonson's children, and, after the christening, being in a deep study, Jonson came to cheer him up, and asked him why he was so melancholy. ' No faith, Ben,' says he, ' not I, but I have been considering a great while what should be the fittest gift for me to bestow upon my godchild, and I have resolved at last.' ' I prythee, what ? ' says he. ' I* faith, Ben, I'll e'en give him a dozen good Latin (latten) spoons, and thou shalt translate them.
第372页 - We will return no more ;' And all at once they sang, ' Our island home Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam.

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