Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 13

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William Blackwood, 1823


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Page 86 - WHAT shall I do to be for ever known, And make the age to come my own...
Page 64 - Astarte, queen of heaven, with crescent horns ; To whose bright image nightly by the moon Sidonian virgins paid their vows and songs, In Sion also not unsung, where stood Her temple on th' offensive mountain, built By that uxorious king, whose heart though large, Beguiled by fair idolatresses, fell To idols foul.
Page 64 - Ran purple to the sea, supposed with blood Of Thammuz yearly wounded; the love-tale Infected Sion's daughters with like heat; Whose wanton passions in the sacred porch Ezekiel saw, when, by the vision led, His eye surveyed the dark idolatries Of alienated Judah.
Page 64 - Thammuz came next behind, Whose annual wound in Lebanon allured The Syrian damsels to lament his fate In amorous ditties all a summer's day; While smooth Adonis from his native rock Ran purple to the sea, supposed with blood Of Thammuz yearly wounded...
Page 208 - Scully! thou false one, You basely betrayed him, In his strong hour of need, When thy right hand should aid him; He fed thee — he clad thee — You had all could delight thee: You left him — you sold him — May Heaven requite thee! Scully! may all kinds Of evil attend thee ! On thy dark road of life May no kind one befriend thee! May fevers long burn thee, And agues long freeze thee! May the strong hand of God In His red anger seize thee!
Page 210 - I'd play with a child, And my sport would be wilder. I'd dance without tiring From morning till even, And the goal-ball I'd strike To the lightning of Heaven. At my bed-foot decaying, My hurl-bat is lying, Through the boys of the village My goal-ball is flying ; My horse 'mong the neighbours Neglected may fallow,— While I pine in my chains, In the gaol of Clonmala.
Page 484 - HIGHWAYS and BYWAYS ; or, Tales of the Road-side, picked up in the French Provinces. By a WALKING GENTLEMAN.
Page 543 - WHAT slender Youth bedew'd with liquid odours Courts thee on Roses in some pleasant Cave, Pyrrha for whom bind'st thou In wreaths thy golden Hair, Plain in thy neatness? O how oft shall he On Faith and changed Gods complain : and Seas Rough with black winds and storms Unwonted shall admire : Who now enjoys thee credulous, all Gold, Who always vacant, always amiable Hopes thee ; of flattering gales Unmindful.
Page 354 - and I most lost of men ! " "Now, speak not so, my noble lord, my husband and my life, Unhappy never can she be that is Alarcos
Page 349 - O, for a blast of that dread horn, On Fontarabian echoes borne, That to King Charles did come, When Rowland brave, and Olivier, And every paladin and peer, On Roncesvalles died...

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