Blackwood's Magazine, Volume 58

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W. Blackwood., 1845

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Page 251 - See mystery to mathematics fly. In vain: they gaze, turn giddy, rave, and die. Religion, blushing, veils her sacred fires; And, unawares, morality expires. Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine, Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine. Lo ! thy dread empire, Chaos ! is restor'd, Light dies before thy uncreating word. Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall; And universal darkness buries all.
Page 254 - For thee we dim the eyes, and stuff the head With all such reading as was never read : For thee explain a thing till all men doubt it, And write. about it, goddess, and about it : So spins the silk-worm small its slender store, And labours till it clouds itself all o'er.
Page 308 - I once before took leave to remind your Lordships which was unnecessary, but there are many whom it may be needful to remind that an advocate, by the sacred duty which he owes his client, knows, in the discharge of that office, but one person in the world, that client and none other.
Page 368 - But thou in clumsy verse, unlickt, unpointed, Hast shamefully defied the Lord's anointed. I will not rake the dunghill of thy crimes, For who would read thy life that reads thy rhymes ? But of King David's foes, be this the doom, May all be like the young man Absalom ; And, for my foes, may this their blessing be, To talk like Doeg, and to write like thee...
Page 367 - Heaven made him poor (with reverence speaking), He never was a poet of God's making; The midwife laid her hand on his thick skull, With this prophetic blessing Be thou dull; Drink, swear, and roar, forbear no lewd delight Fit for thy bulk do anything but write: Thou art of lasting make, like thoughtless men, A strong nativity but for the pen!
Page 233 - The sire then shook the honours of his head, And from his brows damps of oblivion shed Full on the filial dulness...
Page 243 - HIGH on a gorgeous seat, that far out-shone Henley's gilt tub, or Fleckno's Irish throne...
Page 366 - Doeg, though without knowing how or why, Made still a blundering kind of melody ; Spurred boldly on, and dashed through thick and thin. Through sense and nonsense, never out nor in...
Page 233 - My son, advance Still in new impudence, new ignorance. Success let others teach, learn thou from me Pangs without birth, and fruitless industry. Let virtuosos in five years be writ; Yet not one thought accuse thy toil of wit.
Page 233 - Nay let thy men of wit too be the same, All full of thee, and differing but in name; But let no alien Sedley interpose To lard with wit thy hungry Epsom prose.

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