The Saturday Magazine, Volumen 10

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John William Parker, 1837
 

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Página 244 - Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth? Who filled thy countenance with rosy light? Who made thee parent of perpetual streams? And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! Who called you forth from night and utter death, From dark and icy caverns called you forth, Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, For ever shattered and the same for ever?
Página 21 - Southward from Surrey's pleasant hills flew those bright couriers forth ; High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor they started for the north ; And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still : All night from tower to tower they sprang ; they sprang from hill to hill...
Página 46 - And should my youth, as youth is apt, I know, Some harshness show, All vain asperities I day by day Would wear away, Till the smooth temper of my age should be Like the high leaves upon the Holly-Tree.
Página 21 - Then bugle's note and cannon's roar the deathlike silence broke, And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke. At once on all her stately gates arose the answering fires; At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling spires; From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice of fear; And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer...
Página 21 - And crushed and torn beneath his claws the princely hunters lay. Ho ! strike the flagstaff deep, Sir Knight ; ho ! scatter flowers, fair maids ; Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute ; ho! gallants, draw your blades : Thou sun, shine on her joyously ; ye breezes, waft her wide ; Our glorious SEMPER EADEM, the banner of our pride.
Página 61 - THE way was long, the wind was cold, The Minstrel was infirm and old; His withered cheek, and tresses gray, Seemed to have known a better day; The harp, his sole remaining joy, Was carried by an orphan boy. The last of all the bards was he, Who sung of Border chivalry; For, well-a-day ! their date was fled, His tuneful brethren all were dead; And he, neglected and oppressed, Wished to be with them, and at rest.
Página 191 - A man that hath no virtue in himself, ever envieth virtue in others. For men's minds will either feed upon their own good, or upon others' evil ; and who wanteth the one, will prey upon the other : and whoso is out of hope to attain to another's virtue, will seek to come at even hand by depressing another's fortune.
Página 244 - Who made you glorious as the gates of Heaven Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet? — God ! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God!
Página 21 - For swift to east and swift to west the ghastly warflame spread, High on St. Michael's Mount it shone: it shone on Beachy Head. Far on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern shire , Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire.
Página 7 - TOIL on ! toil on ! ye ephemeral train, Who build in the tossing and treacherous main ; Toil on — for the wisdom of man ye mock, With your sand-based structures and domes of rock ; Your columns the fathomless fountains...

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