Fraser's Magazine, Volum 32

James Anthony Froude, John Tulloch
J. Fraser, 1845
Contains the first printing of Sartor resartus, as well as other works by Thomas Carlyle.

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Passatges populars

Pàgina 287 - Shakspeare, that, take him for all in all, we shall not look upon his like again.
Pàgina 9 - CAPTAIN or colonel, or knight in arms, Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize, If deed of honour did thee ever please, Guard them, and him within protect from harms. He can requite thee, for he knows the charms That call fame on such gentle acts as these, And he can spread thy name o'er lands and seas, Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms. Lift not thy spear against the Muses...
Pàgina 18 - Saturn, quiet as a stone, Still as the silence round about his lair; Forest on forest hung about his head Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there, Not so much life as on a summer's day Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass, But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest.
Pàgina 15 - Poetry produces an illusion on the eye of the mind, as a magic lantern produces an illusion on the eye of the body. And, as the magic lantern acts best in a dark room, poetry effects its purpose most completely in a dark age.
Pàgina 47 - For if she will, she will, you may depend on't, And if she won't, she won't, and there's an end on't...
Pàgina 78 - On which that ancient trump he reach'd was hung : Thither oft, his glory greeting, From Waller's myrtle shades retreating, With many a vow from Hope's aspiring tongue, My trembling feet his guiding steps pursue ; In vain — Such bliss to one alone, Of all the sons of soul, was known ; And Heaven, and Fancy, kindred powers, Have now o'erturn'd th' inspiring bowers; Or curtain'd close such scene from ev'ry future view.
Pàgina 300 - Non, l'avenir n'est à personne! Sire! l'avenir est à Dieu! A chaque fois que l'heure sonne, Tout ici-bas nous dit adieu. L'avenir! l'avenir! mystère! Toutes les choses de la terre, Gloire, fortune militaire, Couronne éclatante des rois, Victoire aux ailes embrasées, Ambitions réalisées, Ne sont jamais sur nous posées Que comme l'oiseau sur nos toits!
Pàgina 300 - Demain, c'est le cheval qui s'abat blanc d'écume. Demain, ô conquérant, c'est Moscou qui s'allume, La nuit, comme un flambeau. C'est votre vieille garde au loin jonchant la plaine. Demain, c'est Waterloo! demain, c'est Sainte-Hélène! Demain, c'est le tombeau!
Pàgina 255 - But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think...
Pàgina 78 - John Wesley's conversation is good, but he is never at leisure. He is always obliged to go at a certain hour. This is very disagreeable to a man who loves to fold his legs and have out his talk, as I do.

Informació bibliogràfica