The Literary souvenir; or, Cabinet of poetry and romance, ed. by A.A. Watts. [on large paper].

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Alaric Alexander Watts

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Страница 66 - So — let him writhe! How long Will he live thus? Quick, my good pencil, now! What a fine agony works upon his brow! Ha! gray-haired, and so strong! How fearfully he stifles that short moan ! Gods! if I could but paint a dying groan! — "'Pity
Страница 68 - Ay, though it bid me rifle My heart's last fount for its insatiate thirst — Though every life-strung nerve be maddened first, Though it should bid me stifle The yearning in my throat for my sweet child, And taunt its mother till my brain went wild — " All— I would do it all Sooner than die like a dull worm, to rot, Thrust foully into earth to be forgot, Oh heavens ! But I appal Your heart, old man : forgive.
Страница 68 - I'll paint the death-dew on his brow. Gods ! if he do not die But for one moment — one — till I eclipse Conception with the scorn of those calm lips; Shivering'! Hark ! he mutters Brokenly now — that was a difficult breath — Another ? Wilt thou never come, oh Death ? Look ! how his temple flutters ! Is his heart still ? Aha!
Страница 144 - Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew! And gentle ladye, deign to stay ! Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. "The blackening wave is edged with white; To inch and rock the sea-mews fly ; The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh.
Страница 67 - Yet there's a deathless name, A spirit that the smothering vault shall spurn. And like a steadfast planet mount and burn, And, though its crown of flame Consumed my brain to ashes as it shone, By all the fiery stars, I'd bind it on ! " Ay, though it bid me rifle My heart's last fount for its insatiate thirst...
Страница 66 - Bring me the captive now ! My hand feels skilful, and the shadows lift From my waked spirit airily and swift ; And I could paint the bow Upon the bended heavens — around me play Colors of such divinity to-day. Ha ! bind him on his back...
Страница 66 - Parrhasius, a painter of Athens, amongst those Olynthian captives Philip of Macedon brought home to sell, bought one very old man; and when he had him at Athens, put him to extreme torture and torment, the better by his example to express the pains and passions of his Prometheus, whom he was then about to paint.
Страница 66 - Colors of such divinity to-day. Ha ! bind him on his back ! Look ! as Prometheus in my picture here...
Страница 174 - What we beheld scarce can I now recall In one connected picture ; images Hurrying so swiftly their fresh witcheries O'er the mind's mirror, that the several Seems lost, or blended in the mighty All :— Lone lakes ; rills gushing through rock-rooted trees ; Peaked mountains, shadowing vales of peacefulness ; Glens, echoing to the flashing waterfall. Then that sweet twilight isle, with friends delayed Beside a ferny bank, 'neath oaks and yews The moon between two mountain peaks embayed ; Heaven and...
Страница 67 - Our life upon the chance wind, even as they. Strain well thy fainting eye; For when that bloodshot quivering is o'er, The light of heaven will never reach thee more.