The Sporting review, ed. by 'Craven'., Volume 28

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John William Carleton
1852
 

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Page 275 - Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; And,— when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.
Page 255 - I was with Hercules and Cadmus once, When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear With hounds of Sparta : never did I hear Such gallant chiding ; for, besides the groves, The skies, the fountains, every region near Seem'd all one mutual cry : I never heard So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.
Page 254 - Heavens ! what a goodly prospect spreads around, Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns, and spires, And glittering towns, and gilded streams, till all The stretching landscape into smoke decays...
Page 149 - Oh, Sir! the good die first, And they whose hearts are dry as summer dust Burn to the socket.
Page 260 - Th' inhuman rout, and from the shady depth Expel him, circling through his every shift. He sweeps the forest oft ; and sobbing sees The glades, mild opening to the golden day; Where, in kind contest, with his butting friends He wont to struggle, or his loves enjoy...
Page 356 - ... that particular ports must be actually invested, and previous warning given to vessels bound to them, not to enter.
Page 356 - That God and nature have put into our hands !" What ideas of God and nature, that noble Lord may entertain, I know not ; but I know, that such detestable principles are equally abhorrent to religion and humanity. "What! to attribute the sacred sanction of God and nature...
Page 137 - Their notion of its perfect rest. A convent, even a hermit's cell Would break the silence of this Dell; It is not quiet, is not ease, But something deeper far than these; The separation that is here Is of the grave ; and of austere And happy feelings of the dead : And therefore was it rightly said That Ossian, last of all his race, Lies buried in this lonely place.
Page 120 - Hyperion's curls, the front of Jove himself, An eye like Mars, to threaten and command, A station like the herald Mercury New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill, A combination and a form indeed, Where every god did seem to set his seal, To give the world assurance of a man.
Page 221 - And slight withal may be the things which bring Back on the heart the weight which it would fling Aside for ever : it may be a sound — A tone of music, — summer's eve — or spring, A flower — the wind — the Ocean — which shall wound, Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound ; XXIV.

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