The Edinburgh Review: Or Critical Journal, Volumen122

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A. Constable, 1865

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Página 481 - If I beheld the sun when it shined, Or the moon walking in brightness ; And my heart hath been secretly enticed, Or my mouth hath kissed my hand : This also were an iniquity to be punished by the judge : For I should have denied the God that is above.
Página 561 - Did wisely to conceal, and not divulge His secrets, to be scann'd by them who ought Rather admire...
Página 206 - Before the beginning of years There came to the making of man Time, with a gift of tears; Grief, with a glass that ran; Pleasure, with pain for leaven; Summer, with flowers that fell; Remembrance fallen from heaven, 320 And madness risen from hell; Strength without hands to smite; Love that endures for a breath: Night, the shadow of light, And life, the shadow of death.
Página 55 - Could we with ink the ocean fill, and were the skies of parchment made, Were every stalk on earth a quill, and every man a scribe by trade, To write the love of God above, would drain the ocean dry. Nor could the scroll contain the whole, though stretched from sky to sky, O love of God, how rich and pure!
Página 561 - Conjecture, he his fabric of the Heavens Hath left to their disputes, perhaps to move His laughter at their quaint opinions wide Hereafter, when they come to model Heaven And calculate the stars, how they will wield The mighty frame; how build, unbuild, contrive To save appearances; how gird the sphere With centric and eccentric scribbled o'er, Cycle and epicycle, orb in orb...
Página 204 - For the Thracian ships and the foreign faces, The tongueless vigil, and all the pain.
Página 119 - For the law made nothing perfect, but the bringing in of a better hope did; by the which we draw nigh unto God.
Página 212 - Hath taken away to slay them: yea, and she, She the strange woman, she the flower, the sword, Red from spilt blood, a mortal flower to men, Adorable, detestable — even she Saw with strange eyes and with strange lips rejoiced, Seeing these mine own slain of mine own, and me Made miserable above all miseries made, A grief among all women in the world, A name to be washed out with all men's tears. CHORUS...
Página 208 - What hadst thou to do being born, Mother, when winds were at ease, As a flower of the springtime of corn, A flower of the foam of the seas? For bitter thou wast from thy birth, Aphrodite, a mother of strife; For before thee some rest was on earth, A little respite from tears, A little pleasure of life...
Página 207 - A time for labour and thought, A time to serve and to sin ; They gave him light in his ways, And love, and a space for delight, And beauty and length of days, And night, and sleep in the night. His speech is a burning fire ; With his lips he travaileth ; In his heart is a blind desire, In his eyes foreknowledge of death ; He weaves, and is clothed with derision ; Sows, and he shall not reap ; His life is a watch or a vision Between a sleep and a sleep.

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