The Cornhill Magazine, Volume 47

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William Makepeace Thackeray
Smith, Elder., 1883 - Electronic journals

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Page 192 - Darkling I listen ; and, for many a time, I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath ; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain...
Page 431 - By all the heav'ns thou hast in him, Fair sister of the seraphim! By all of him we have in thee, Leave nothing of myself in me: Let me so read thy life that I Unto all life of mine may die.
Page 548 - Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not...
Page 531 - twixt the green sea and the azured vault Set roaring war : to the dread rattling thunder Have I given fire and rifted Jove's stout oak With his own bolt ; the strong-based promontory Have I made shake and by the spurs pluck'd up The pine and cedar : graves at my command Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let 'em forth By my so potent art.
Page 198 - Tis the merry Nightingale That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates With fast thick warble his delicious notes, As he were fearful that an April night Would be too short for him to utter forth His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul Of all its music...
Page 198 - A pleasure in the dimness of the stars. And hark ! the nightingale begins its song, " Most musical, most melancholy " bird ! A melancholy bird ! Oh ! idle thought ! In Nature there is nothing melancholy. But some night-wandering man whose heart was pierced With the remembrance of a grievous wrong, Or slow distemper, or neglected love, (And so, poor wretch...
Page 431 - O thou undaunted daughter of desires! By all thy dower of lights and fires, By all the eagle in thee, all the dove, By all thy lives and deaths of love, By thy large draughts of intellectual day, And by thy thirsts of love more large than they, By all thy...
Page 200 - ... in a lonely place, And chanted a melody loud and sweet, That made the wild-swan pause in her cloud, And the lark drop down at his feet. The swallow stopt as he hunted the bee, The snake slipt under a spray, The wild hawk stood with the down on his beak, And stared, with his foot on the prey, And the nightingale thought, '/ I have sung many songs, But never a one so gay, For he sings of what the world will be When the years have died away.
Page 215 - Under the arch of Life, where love and death, Terror and mystery, guard her shrine, I saw Beauty enthroned ; and though her gaze struck awe, I drew it in as simply as my breath. Hers are the eyes which, over and beneath, The sky and sea bend on thee, — which can draw, By sea or sky or woman, to one law, The allotted bondman of her palm and wreath. This is that Lady Beauty, in whose praise Thy voice and hand shake still, — long known to thee By flying hair and fluttering...
Page 193 - Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

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