Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Bind 33

Forsideomslag
Thomes & Talbot, 1871

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Side 362 - Our song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow!
Side 219 - All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players : They have their exits and their entrances ; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Side 362 - The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave ! — For the deck it was their field of fame, And Ocean was their grave...
Side 305 - Doubt not, therefore, sir, but that angling is an art, and an art worth your learning. The question is rather, whether you be capable of learning it ? for angling is somewhat like poetry, — men are to be born so: I mean, with inclinations to it, though both may be heightened by discourse and practice; but he that hopes to be a good angler must not only bring an inquiring, searching, observing wit, but he must bring a large measure of hope and patience, and a love and propensity to the art itself;...
Side 362 - Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak, She quells the floods below, — As they roar on the shore, When the stormy winds do blow, When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.
Side 219 - With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Side 306 - I count it higher pleasure to behold The stately compass of the lofty sky, And in the midst thereof, like burning gold, The flaming chariot of the world's great eye ; The watery clouds that in the air up-roll'd, With sundry kinds of painted colours fly ; And fair Aurora lifting up her head. Still blushing, rise from old Tithonus
Side 306 - Whilst some men strive ill-gotten goods t' embrace And others spend their time in base excess Of wine, or worse, in war and wantonness. Let them that list, these pastimes still pursue, And on such pleasing fancies feed their fill ; So I the fields and meadows green may view, And daily by fresh rivers walk at will, Among the daisies and the violets blue, Red hyacinth and yellow daffodil, Purple narcissus like the morning rays, Pale gander-grass, and azure culverkeys.
Side 305 - O sir, doubt not but that angling is an art. Is it not an art to deceive a trout with an artificial fly ? a trout that is more sharp-sighted than any hawk you have named, and more watchful and timorous than your high-mettled merlin is bold ! and yet I doubt not to catch a brace or two to-morrow for a friend's breakfast. Doubt not, therefore, sir, but that angling is an art...
Side 297 - ... this foretaste of repose. The worst of it is, that on going to bed the charm sometimes vanishes; perhaps from the colder temperature of the chamber; for a fireside is a great opiate. Speaking of the painful positions into which a sleepy lounger will get himself, it is amusing to think of the more fantastic attitudes that so often take place in bed. If we could add...

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