Graham's American Monthly Magazine of Literature, Art, and Fashion, Volumes 24 à 25G. R. Graham, 1844 |
Table des matières
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Autres éditions - Tout afficher
Graham's American Monthly Magazine of Literature, Art, and ..., Volumes 22 à 23 Affichage du livre entier - 1843 |
Graham's American Monthly Magazine of Literature, Art, and Fashion, Volume 35 Affichage du livre entier - 1849 |
Expressions et termes fréquents
arms Athens Barry Barry Cornwall beautiful beneath Bessy bosom breath brow called cheek child clouds Cousin cried dark daughter David Hunt dear deep door dream earth Eugene Sue exclaimed eyes face fancy Fanny Fanwood father fear feeling fell fire flowers frigate gaze girl grace GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE half hand happy Harry Davis Hartland head heard heart Heaven hope horse hour Howard Gardner knew Knim lady Langtree laugh light lips look maronnier marriage mind morning mother Murad never night noble o'er once pale passed passion Paul Cameron Pericles Phidias Philadelphia poems poet poor Quint replied round scene schooner seemed Shaw Shiverton side smile Soberton soon soul spirit stood sweet tears Tharaw thee thing thou thought tion tone trembling truth turned voice wife wild wind woman words young
Fréquemment cités
Page 213 - Were half the power, that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth, bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals nor forts: The warrior's name would be a name abhorred!
Page 213 - Down the dark future, through long generations, The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease; And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, I hear once more the voice of Christ say, " Peace! " Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies! But beautiful as songs of the immortals, The holy melodies of love arise.
Page 213 - I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus, The cries of agony, the endless groan, Which, through the ages that have gone before us, In long reverberations reach our own. On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer, - Through Cimbric forest roars the Norseman's song, And loud, amid the universal clamor, O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong.
Page 213 - THIS is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling, Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms ; But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing Startles the villages with strange alarms. Ah ! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary, When the death-angel touches those swift keys ! What loud lament and dismal Miserere Will mingle with their awful symphonies...
Page 269 - Rise the blue Franconian mountains, Nuremberg, the ancient, stands. Quaint old town of toil and traffic, quaint old town of art and song, Memories haunt thy pointed gables, like the rooks that round them throng: Memories of the Middle Ages, when the emperors, rough and bold, Had their dwelling in thy castle, time-defying, centuries old; And thy brave and thrifty burghers boasted, in their uncouth rhyme, That their great imperial city stretched its hand through every clime.
Page 131 - He was one of those people whom it is impossible either to hate or to respect. His temper was sweet, his affections Warm, his spirits lively, his passions strong, and his principles weak. His life was spent in sinning and repenting ; in inculcating what was right, and doing what was wrong. In speculation, he was a man of piety and honor ; in practice, he was much of the rake and a little of the swindler.
Page 244 - Bottomless vales and boundless floods, And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods, With forms that no man can discover For the dews that drip all over; Mountains toppling evermore Into seas without a shore; Seas that restlessly aspire, Surging, unto skies of fire; Lakes that endlessly outspread Their lone waters - lone and dead, Their still waters - still and chilly With the snows of the lolling lily.
Page 190 - The Heart — the Heart — there was the little, yet boundless sphere, wherein existed the original wrong, of which the crime and misery of this outward world were merely types.
Page 60 - Appals the gazing mourner's heart, As if to him it could impart The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon ; Yes, but for these, and these alone, Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour, He still might doubt the tyrant's power ; So fair, so calm, so softly sealed, The first, last look by death revealed...
Page 9 - Insight" shouts in Nature's ears His last conundrum on the orbs and spheres; There Self-inspection sucks its little thumb, With "Whence am I?