Tait's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 24

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William Tait, Christian Isobel Johnstone
W. Tait, 1857

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Page 20 - We rest. A dream has power to poison sleep ; We rise. One wandering thought pollutes the day ; We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep ; Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away : It is the same ! For, be it joy or sorrow, The path of its departure still is free : Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow; Nought may endure but Mutability.
Page 17 - WHEN the hours of Day are numbered, And the voices of the Night Wake the better soul, that slumbered, To a holy, calm delight...
Page 337 - Yet I doubt not through the ages one increasing purpose runs, And the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns.
Page 295 - IT had been hard for him that spake it to have put more truth and untruth together in few words than in that speech : Whosoever is delighted in solitude is either a wild beast or a god.
Page 99 - Read from some humbler poet, Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start...
Page 21 - Common as light is love, And its familiar voice wearies not ever. Like the wide heaven, the all-sustaining air, It makes the reptile equal to the God...
Page 19 - Alas! they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth; And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny; and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain.
Page 17 - He, the young and strong, who cherished Noble longings for the strife, By the roadside fell and perished, Weary with the march of life!
Page 461 - Committee seem to have entertained some alarm as to the high rate of speed which had been spoken of, and proceeded to examine the witness further on the subject. They supposed the case of the engine being upset when going at nine miles an hour, and asked what, in such a case, would become of the cargo astern. To which the witness replied, that it would not be upset. One of the members of the Committee pressed the witness a little further.
Page 403 - So haggard and so woe-begone? The squirrel's granary is full, And the harvest's done. 1 see a lily on thy brow With anguish moist and fever dew, And on thy cheeks a fading rose Fast withereth too.

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