The Yale Literary Magazine, Zväzok 4

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Strana 221 - I do not know what I may appear to the world, but to myself I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the sea-shore, and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.
Strana 239 - Thanks for that lesson. — It will teach To after-warriors more Than high Philosophy can preach, And vainly preached before. That spell upon the minds of men Breaks, never to unite again, That led them to adore Those Pagod things of sabre sway With fronts of brass and feet of clay.
Strana 456 - But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combined locks to part And each particular hair to stand on end, Like quills upon the fretful porcupine : But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood.
Strana 343 - Oh for a tongue to curse the slave, Whose treason, like a deadly blight, Comes o'er the councils of the brave, And blasts them in their hour of might...
Strana 480 - Before the gates there sat On either side a formidable shape; The one seemed woman to the waist, and fair, But ended foul in many a scaly fold Voluminous and vast, a serpent armed With mortal sting.
Strana 248 - Tis not the chime and flow of words, that move In measured file, and metrical array; 'Tis not the union of returning sounds, Nor all the pleasing artifice of rhyme, And quantity, and accent, that can give This all-pervading spirit to the ear, Or blend it with the movings of the soul. 'Tis a mysterious feeling, which combines Man with the world around him, in a chain Woven of flowers...
Strana 364 - And the battle went sore against Saul, and the archers hit him ; and he was sore wounded of the archers.
Strana 470 - All what we affirm or what deny, and call Our knowledge or opinion; then retires Into her private cell. When nature rests Oft in her absence mimic Fancy wakes To imitate her; but misjoining shapes, Wild work produces oft, and most in dreams; 111 matching words and deeds long past or late.
Strana 102 - For home he had not: home is the resort Of love, of joy, of peace, and plenty, where, Supporting and supported, polish'd friends And dear relations mingle into bliss.

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