Nash's Pall Mall Magazine, Volume 9


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Page 43 - Down with her, Burney ! — down with her! — spare her not ! — attack her, fight her, and down with her at once ! You are a rising wit, and she is at the top ; and when I was beginning the world, and was nothing and nobody, the joy of my life was to fire at all the established wits ! and then everybody loved to halloo me on.
Page 544 - 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 652 - Shelley, beautiful and ineffectual angel, beating in the void his luminous wings in vain.
Page 314 - I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright; I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Has led me — who knows how?
Page 420 - tis my delight on a shining night, In the season of the year...
Page 263 - 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 239 - ... same life over, if I had to live again; And the chances are I go where most men go. The deep blue skies wax dusky and the tall green trees grow dim, The sward beneath me seems to heave and fall, And sickly, smoky shadows through the sleepy sunlight swim, And on the very sun's face weave their pall. Let me slumber in the hollow where the wattle blossoms wave, With never stone or rail to fence my bed; Should the sturdy station children pull the bush flowers on my grave, I may chance to hear them...
Page 259 - One fatal remembrance, one sorrow that throws Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes, To which life nothing darker or brighter can bring, For which joy has no balm and affliction no sting...
Page 421 - Gentles and commons. Come from deep glen, and From mountain so rocky; The war-pipe and pennon Are at Inverlochy. Come every hill-plaid, and True heart that wears one, Come every steel blade, and Strong hand that bears one.
Page 315 - For, don't you mark ? we're made so that we love First when we see them painted, things we have passed Perhaps a hundred times nor cared to see; And so they are better, painted — better to us, Which is the same thing. Art was given for that; God uses us to help each other so, Lending our minds out.

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