Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 140

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William Blackwood, 1886 - England

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Page 699 - I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue unexercised and unbreathed, that never sallies out and seeks her adversary, but slinks out of the race, where that immortal garland is to be run for not without dust and heat.
Page 612 - Have you marked but the fall of the snow, Before the soil hath smutched it ? Have you felt the wool of the beaver, Or swan's down ever ? Or have smelt o' the bud o' the brier ? Or the nard in the fire ? Or have tasted the bag of the bee ? O so white ! O so soft ! O so sweet is she ! n.
Page 659 - But let us speak no more of this! I find My father; let me feel that I have found! Come, sit beside me on this sand, and take My head betwixt thy hands, and kiss my cheeks, And wash them with thy tears, and say: My son!
Page 671 - Thou that singest wheat and woodland, tilth and vineyard, hive and horse and herd; All the charm of all the Muses often flowering in a lonely word...
Page 47 - S'il me fallait les vendre, J'aimerais mieux me pendre; J'aime Jeanne ma femme, eh bien! j'aimerais mieux La voir mourir, que voir mourir mes bœufs.
Page 587 - ... are partial in the rest : Foes to all living worth except your own, And advocates for folly dead and gone. Authors, like coins, grow dear as they grow old ; 35 It is the rust we value, not the gold.
Page 429 - I should certainly wish for it; and, as a general lover of liberty, I sincerely desire it; and for this plain reason, that an inferior country, connected with one much her superior in force, can never be certain of the permanent enjoyment of constitutional freedom, unless she has,' by her representatives, a proportional share in the legislature of the superior kingdom.
Page 660 - Bokhara, and lone Khiva in the waste, And the black Toorkmun tents ; and only drunk The desert rivers, Moorghab and Tejend, Kohik, and where the Kalmuks feed their sheep, The northern Sir; and this great Oxus stream — The yellow Oxus, by whose brink I die.
Page 635 - Young husbandman of Erin's fruitful seed-time, In the fresh track of danger's plough ! Who will walk the heavy, toilsome, perilous furrow Girt with freedom's seed-sheets now ? Who will banish with the wholesome crop of knowledge The flaunting weed and the bitter thorn, Now that thou thyself art but a seed for hopeful planting Against the resurrection morn ? Young salmon of the...

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