The Lady's Magazine and Museum of the Belles-lettres, Fine Arts, Music, Drama, Fashions, Etc, Volume 6

J. Page, 1835

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Page 27 - Indeed, my good scholar, we may say of angling as Dr. Boteler said of strawberries, " Doubtless God could have made a better berry, but doubtless God never did ; " and so, if I might be judge, " God never did make a more calm, quiet, innocent recreation than angling.
Page 104 - OIL on ! toil on ! ye ephemeral train, Who build in the tossing and treacherous main ; Toil on — for the wisdom of man ye mock, With your sand-based structures and domes of rock : Your columns the fathomless fountains...
Page 27 - No life, my honest scholar, no life so happy and so pleasant as the life of a well-governed angler; for when the lawyer is swallowed up with business, and the statesman is preventing or contriving plots, then we sit on cowslip banks, hear the birds sing, and possess ourselves in as much quietness as these silent silver streams, which we now see glide so quietly by us.
Page 37 - PETITION OF THE HORSE. In the days of John, King of Atri, (an ancient city of Abruzzo,) there was a bell put up, which any one that had received any injury went and rang, and the king assembled the wise men chosen for the purpose, that justice might be done. It happened that, after the bell had been up a long time, the rope was worn out, and a piece of wild vine was made use of to lengthen it. Now there was a knight of Atri who had a noble charger, which had become unserviceable through age, so that,...
Page 104 - Who sings the angel's song. Begin, sweet birds, the accustomed strain ; Come, warble loud and clear; Alas ! alas ! you're weeping all, You're sobbing in my ear. Good night — go say the prayer she taught, Beside your little bed ; The lips that used to bless you there, Are silent with the dead.
Page 104 - The ocean is sealed, and the surge a stone; Fresh wreaths from the coral pavement spring, Like the terraced pride of Assyria's king; The turf looks green where the breakers rolled ; O'er the whirlpool ripens the rind of gold; The sea-snatched isle is the home of men,^ And mountains exult where the wave hath been.
Page 104 - Hath earth no graves, that ye thus must spread The boundless sea for the thronging dead ? Ye build — ye build — but ye enter not in, Like the tribes whom the desert devoured in their sin ; From the land of promise ye fade and die, Ere its verdure gleams forth on your weary eye ; — • As the kings of the cloud-crowned pyramid, Their noteless bones in oblivion hid, Ye slumber unmarked 'mid the desolate main, While the wonder and pride of your works remain.
Page 104 - O'er the whirlpool ripens the rind of gold; The sea-snatched isle is the home of men, And mountains exult where the wave hath been. But why do ye plant 'neath the billows dark The wrecking reef for the gallant bark ? There are snares enough on the tented field, 'Mid the...
Page 37 - The horse, driven by hunger, raised his mouth to the vine to munch it, and, pulling it, the bell rang. The judges assembled to consider the petition of the horse, which appeared to demand justice. They decreed that the knight whom he had served in his youth should feed him in his old age ; a sentence which the king confirmed under a heavy penalty.
Page 183 - Time all to himself. It seemed to me that I had more time on my hands than I could ever manage. From a poor man, poor in Time, I was suddenly lifted up into a vast revenue ; I could see no end of my possessions ; I wanted some steward, or judicious bailiff, to manage my estates in Time for me.

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