The New-York Quarterly, Volume 2

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C. B. Norton, 1854 - Literature
 

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Page 72 - And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, . And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor: And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted — nevermore...
Page 215 - What may this mean, That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, Making night hideous; and we fools of nature So horridly to shake our disposition With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
Page 81 - Should fate command me to the farthest verge Of the green earth, to distant, barbarous climes, Rivers unknown to song, — where first the sun Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam Flames on the...
Page 288 - t, that nod unto the world, And mock our eyes with air : thou hast seen these signs ; They are black vesper's pageants. Eros. Ay, my lord. Ant. That, which is now a horse, even with a thought, The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct, As water is in water.
Page 592 - That boy," said one of my masters, pointing the attention of a stranger to me, " that boy could harangue an Athenian mob better than you or I could address an English one.
Page 200 - ... if celestial spheres should forget their wonted motions and by irregular volubility turn themselves any way as it might happen; if the prince of the lights of heaven, which now as a giant doth run his unwearied course, should as it were through a languishing faintness begin to stand and to rest himself; if the moon should wander from her beaten way, the times and seasons of the year blend themselves by disordered and confused mixture, the winds breathe out their last gasp...
Page 281 - And he spake of trees, from the cedar tree that is in Lebanon even unto the hyssop that springeth out of the wall: he spake also of beasts, and of fowl, and of creeping things, and of fishes.
Page 296 - Behold, we know not anything ; I can but trust that good shall fall At last — far off— at last, to all, And every winter change to spring. So runs my dream : but what am I ? An infant crying in the night : An infant crying for the light : And with no language but a cry.
Page 611 - ... issue. I, as is usual in dreams (where of necessity we make ourselves central to every movement), had the power, and yet had not the power to decide it. I had the power, if I could raise myself to will it, and yet, again, had not the power ; for the weight of twenty Atlantics was upon me, or the oppression of inexpiable guilt. ' Deeper than ever plummet sounded,
Page 80 - Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, And, lost each human trace, surrendering up Thine individual being, shalt thou go To mix forever with the elements, To be a brother to the insensible rock And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain Turns with his share and treads upon.

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