The Quarterly Review, Volume 52

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Page 25 - Alas ! they had been friends in youth ; But whispering tongues can poison truth ; And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny; and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain.
Page 328 - All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods, And mountains; and of all that we behold From this green earth; of all the mighty world Of eye, and ear, — ;both what they half create, And what perceive...
Page 38 - And he took butter, and milk, and the calf which he had dressed, and set it before them ; and he stood by them under the tree, and they did eat.
Page 336 - Where no misgiving is, rely Upon the genial sense of youth; Glad hearts, without reproach or blot, Who do thy work and know it not: Oh!
Page 11 - All this long eve, so balmy and serene, Have I been gazing on the western sky, And its peculiar tint of yellow green : And still I gaze — and with how blank an eye ! And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars, That give away their motion to the stars...
Page 29 - And there I felt thee ! — on that sea-cliff's verge, Whose pines, scarce travelled by the breeze above, Had made one murmur with the distant surge ! Yes, while I stood and gazed, my temples bare, And shot my being through earth, sea and air, Possessing all things with intensest love, O Liberty ! my spirit felt thee there.
Page 10 - A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear, A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief, Which finds no natural outlet, no relief, In word, or sigh, or tear O Lady!
Page 11 - O Lady ! we receive but what we give, And in our life alone does nature live ; Ours is her wedding garment, ours her shroud ! And would we aught behold of higher worth Than that inanimate cold world allowed To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd, Ah ! from the soul itself must issue forth A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud, Enveloping the Earth — And from the soul itself must there be sent A sweet and potent voice of its own birth, Of all sweet sounds the life and element...
Page 328 - What then I was. The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite; a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
Page 332 - Tis Nature's law That none, the meanest of created things, Of forms created the most vile and brute, The dullest or most noxious, should exist Divorced from good, a spirit and pulse of good, A life and soul, to every mode of being Inseparably linked.

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