The Phrenological Journal, and Magazine of Moral Science, Volumes 11 à 12

MacLachlan, Stewart, and Company, 1838

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Page 372 - As home his footsteps he hath turned From wandering on a foreign strand ? If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no minstrel raptures swell ; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim, — Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.
Page 43 - ... it is better to bear the ills we have, than fly to others that we know not of.
Page 376 - O ill-starr'd wench ! Pale as thy smock ! when we shall meet at compt, This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven, And fiends will snatch at it.
Page 375 - Then shook the hills with thunder riven, Then rushed the steed to battle driven, And louder than the bolts of heaven Far flashed the red artillery.
Page 372 - Caledonia ! stern and wild, meet nurse for a poetic child, • land of brown heath and shaggy wood, land of the mountain and the flood, land of my sires!
Page 84 - I think there is one unerring mark of it, viz. the not entertaining any proposition with greater assurance, than the proofs it is built upon will warrant. Whoever goes beyond this measure of assent, it is plain, receives not truth in the love of it; loves not truth for truth's sake, but for some other by-end.
Page 374 - Now swells the intermingling din ; the jar, Frequent and frightful, of the bursting bomb ; The falling beam, the shriek, the groan, the shout, The ceaseless clangour, and the rush of men Inebriate with rage! — Loud and more loud The discord grows ; till pale Death shuts the scene, And o'er the conqueror and the conquered draws His cold and bloody shroud.
Page 216 - All is the gift of industry ; whate'er Exalts, embellishes, and renders life Delightful. Pensive Winter, cheer'd by him, Sits at the social fire, and happy hears Th' excluded tempest idly rave along.
Page 374 - Ah ! whence yon glare That fires the arch of heaven ? — that dark red smoke Blotting the silver moon ? The stars are quenched In darkness, and the pure and spangling snow Gleams faintly through the gloom that gathers round...
Page 375 - And o'er the conqueror and the conquer'd draws His cold and bloody shroud. — Of all the men Whom day's departing beam saw blooming there In proud and vigorous health ; of all the hearts That beat with anxious life at sun-set there ; How few survive, how few are beating now ! AD is deep silence, like the fearful calm That slumbers in the storm's portentous pause ; Save when the frantic wail of widowed love Comes...

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