Tait's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 18

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William Tait, Christian Isobel Johnstone
W. Tait, 1851
 

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Page 31 - Most ambitiously. Princes' images on their tombs do not lie, as they were wont, seeming to pray up to heaven ; but with their hands under their cheeks, as if they died of the toothache : they are not carved with their eyes fixed upon the stars; but as their minds were wholly bent upon the world, the selfsame way they seem to turn their faces.
Page 32 - Of what is't fools make such vain keeping? Sin their conception, their birth weeping, Their life a general mist of error, Their death a hideous storm of terror. Strew your hair with powders sweet, Don clean linen, bathe your feet, And (the foul fiend more to check) A crucifix let bless your neck : 'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day ; End your groan, and come away.
Page 268 - But when the stalk is snapt, the rose must bend. The tallest flower that skyward rears its head Grows from the common ground, and there must shed Its delicate petals. Cruel fate, too surely, That they should find so base a bridal bed, Who lived in virgin pride, so sweet and purely. She had a brother, and a tender father, And she was loved, but not as others are From whom we ask return of love, - but rather As one might love a dream; a...
Page 31 - Didst thou ever see a lark in a cage ? Such is the soul in the body : this world is like her little turf of grass; and the heaven o'er our heads like her looking-glass, only gives us a miserable knowledge of the small compass of our prison.
Page 28 - Mongst quiet kindred that had nothing left By their dead parents : ' Stay,' quoth Reputation, ' Do not forsake me ; for it is my nature, If once I part from any man I meet, I am never found again.
Page 32 - Come, violent death, Serve for mandragora to make me sleep. Go tell my brothers ; when I am laid out, They then may feed in quiet.
Page 410 - Her arts victorious triumph'd o'er our arms ; Britain to soft refinements less a foe, Wit grew polite, and numbers learn'd to flow.
Page 378 - My wits begin to turn. Come on, my boy : how dost, my boy ? art cold ? I am cold myself. Where is this straw, my fellow ? The art of our necessities is strange, That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel. Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart That's sorry yet for thee.
Page 287 - Opposite in their character and mission, alike in their magnificence of energy, they came from the North and from the South, the glacier torrent and the lava stream : they met and contended over the wreck of the Roman empire ; and the very centre of the struggle) the point of pause of both, the dead water of the opposite eddies, charged with embayed fragments of the Roman wreck, is VENICE. The Ducal palace of Venice contains the three elements in exactly equal proportions — the Roman, Lombard,...
Page 96 - Time hath endless rarities, and shows of all varieties ; which reveals old things in heaven, makes new discoveries in earth, and even earth itself a discovery. That great antiquity America lay buried for thousands of years, and a large part of the earth is still in the urn unto us.

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