The Oxford University Magazine and Review, Выпуск 1T. and G. Shrimpton, 1869 |
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ancient angel answer Anthropomorphism argument beautiful Britannia British Britons Calverley Celtic Celts century character Christian Church College Communism communist course Cymry doubt endowments England English Enone equally existing eyes fact favour George Müller German Gesta Gesta Romanorum Gildas give gods graduate Greek hands heart hermit human idea Ilion J. S. Mill king Kitt's labour language Latin least less lived look Louis Blanc Mill Mill's modern moral nation nature never night Oxford perhaps person Petrus Alphonsus Phalansteries Pike Planchette poetry political possess practical present principles probably question racter readers reason religion Robert Owen Roman Saxons schemes shew social society speak spirit story suppose Tablet Teutonic thee Theocritus things thou thought tion translation undergraduate University Welsh Welsh Triads whole women words Wordsworth writing
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Стр. 33 - God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
Стр. 131 - ... language is but the instrument conveying to us things useful to be known. And though a linguist should pride himself to have all the tongues that Babel cleft the world into, yet if he have not studied the solid things in them as well as the words and lexicons, he were nothing so much to be esteemed a learned man, as any yeoman or tradesman competently wise in his mother dialect only.
Стр. 157 - I was altogether such an one as thyself" ['WILL sprawl, now that the heat of day is best, Flat on his belly in the pit's much mire, With elbows wide, fists clenched to prop his chin; And, while he kicks both feet in the cool slush, And feels about his spine small eft-things course, Run in and out each arm, and make him laugh; And while above his head a pompion-plant, Coating the cave-top as a brow its eye, Creeps down to touch and tickle hair and beard, And now a flower drops with a bee inside, And...
Стр. 36 - MILTON ! thou shouldst be living at this hour : England hath need of thee : she is a fen Of stagnant waters : altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men ; Oh ! raise us up, return to us again ; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart ; Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea : Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, 1 So didst thou...
Стр. 46 - With heaping coals of fire upon its head ; In the kind warmth the metal learns to glow, And loose from dross, the silver runs below.
Стр. 35 - So fair, so sweet, withal so sensitive, Would that the little Flowers were born to live, Conscious of half the pleasure which they give ; That to this mountain-daisy's self were known The beauty of its star-shaped shadow, thrown On the smooth surface of this naked stone...
Стр. 90 - Muses' parting gift,' And leftward sloped tow'rd Pyxa. We the while Bent us to Phrasydeme's, Eucritus and I, And baby-faced Amyntas : there we lay Half-buried in a couch of fragrant reed And fresh-cut vineleaves, who so glad as we ? A wealth of elm and poplar shook o'erhead ; Hard by, a sacred spring flowed gurgling on From the Nymphs' grot, and in the sombre boughs The sweet cicada chirped laboriously.
Стр. 35 - So fair, so sweet, withal so sensitive ; — Would that the little flowers were born to live Conscious of half the pleasure which they give. That to this mountain daisy's self were known The beauty of its star-shaped shadow, thrown On the smooth surface of this naked stone.
Стр. 33 - The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
Стр. 35 - Almost at the root Of that tall pine, the shadow of whose bare And slender stem, while here I sit at eve, Oft stretches towards me, like a long straight path Traced faintly in the greensward ; there, beneath A plain blue stone, a gentle dalesman lies, From whom, in early childhood, was withdrawn The precious gift of hearing. He grew up From year to year in loneliness of soul ; And this deep mountain valley was to him Soundless, with all its streams.