Spirit of the English Magazines, 11 tomasMunroe and Francis, 1822 |
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6 psl.
... hours forever gone A spirit glides to my bed - side 448 37 As late each flower 251 Athwart the city's street Come , fairest nymph , resume thy reign 368 Cupid and my Čampaspe play'd 90 200 Ballads by Clare 42 Day breaks on the mountain ...
... hours forever gone A spirit glides to my bed - side 448 37 As late each flower 251 Athwart the city's street Come , fairest nymph , resume thy reign 368 Cupid and my Čampaspe play'd 90 200 Ballads by Clare 42 Day breaks on the mountain ...
23 psl.
... hour is come . " In a moment the wicket open- ed , and the same voice said , " Take this sword , and come with me . If you have courage to avenge the miseries and the death of your beautiful and wretched wife , come , for the hour is at ...
... hour is come . " In a moment the wicket open- ed , and the same voice said , " Take this sword , and come with me . If you have courage to avenge the miseries and the death of your beautiful and wretched wife , come , for the hour is at ...
72 psl.
... hour , " All ye who hear , whatever be your work , Stop for an instant - move your lips in prayer ! " And , just beneath it , in that dreary dale , If dale it might be called , so near to Heaven , A little lake , where never fish leaped ...
... hour , " All ye who hear , whatever be your work , Stop for an instant - move your lips in prayer ! " And , just beneath it , in that dreary dale , If dale it might be called , so near to Heaven , A little lake , where never fish leaped ...
73 psl.
... hour he loved . The tale was long , but coming to a close , When his dark eye flashed fire , and , stopping short , He listened and looked up . I looked up too ; And twice there came a hiss that thro ' me thrilled ! ' Twas heard no more ...
... hour he loved . The tale was long , but coming to a close , When his dark eye flashed fire , and , stopping short , He listened and looked up . I looked up too ; And twice there came a hiss that thro ' me thrilled ! ' Twas heard no more ...
74 psl.
... hour ; Now , frowning , smiling for the hundredth time ...... .. The nurse , that ancient lady , preached decorum ; And , in the lustre of her youth , she gave Her hand , with her heart in it , to Francesco . Great was the joy ; but at ...
... hour ; Now , frowning , smiling for the hundredth time ...... .. The nurse , that ancient lady , preached decorum ; And , in the lustre of her youth , she gave Her hand , with her heart in it , to Francesco . Great was the joy ; but at ...
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Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
admiration Agobar ancholy appeared Arabs arms ATHENEUM VOL beautiful beneath bosom called Callias Cevennes character Charles Martel charm Clodomir clouds Damascus dark daugh daughter death deep delight Don Quixote Dublin earth English exclaimed eyes Ezilda face fair father fear feel feet fire flowers France French Gaul Goudair Guy's Cliff hand happy head heard heart heaven horse hour inhabitants Ismayl janissaries Jerusalem King lady land light live look Lord Maryam ment mind morning mountain nature never night o'er observed passed person Peter Klaus pleasure Portugal prince Princess replied rock rose rose-tree round Saracens scene Schlusselburg seemed seen side sight smile song soon soul spirit sweet Syria tears thee thing thou thought tion took trees ture voice wind young youth
Populiarios ištraukos
262 psl. - We are not of Alice, nor of thee, nor are we children at all. The children of Alice call Bartrum father. We are nothing ; less than nothing ; and dreams. We are only what might have been, and must wait upon the tedious shores of Lethe millions of ages before we have existence, and a name.
262 psl. - Then I told how for seven long years, in hope sometimes, sometimes in despair, yet persisting ever, I courted the fair Alice W n ; and, as much as children could understand, I explained to them what coyness, and difficulty, and denial meant in maidens — when suddenly, turning to Alice, the soul of the first Alice looked out at her eyes with such a reality of re-presentment, that I became in doubt which of them stood there before me, or whose that bright hair was...
223 psl. - Here lies Fred, Who was alive, and is dead. Had it been his father, I had much rather. Had it been his brother, Still better than another. Had it been his sister, No one would have missed her. Had it been the whole generation, Still better for the nation. But since 't is only Fred, Who was alive, and is dead, There's no more to be said.
262 psl. - I was lame-footed; and how when he died, though he had not been dead an hour, it seemed as if he had died a great while ago, such a distance there is betwixt life and death...
319 psl. - midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way ? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
261 psl. - ... carried away to the owner's other house, where they were set up, and looked as awkward as if some one were to carry away the old tombs they had seen lately at the abbey, and stick them up in Lady C.'s tawdry gilt drawing-room. Here John smiled, as much as to say, " That would be foolish indeed.
261 psl. - ... or in lying about upon the fresh grass, with all the fine garden smells around me — or basking in the orangery, till I could almost fancy myself ripening too along with the oranges and the limes in that grateful warmth — or in watching the dace that darted to and fro in the fish-pond, at the bottom of the garden, with here and there a great sulky pike hanging midway down the water in silent state, as if it mocked at their impertinent friskings...
200 psl. - Cupid and my Campaspe played At cards for kisses — Cupid paid; He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, His mother's doves, and team of sparrows; Loses them too; then down he throws The coral of his lip, the rose Growing on's cheek (but none knows how), With these, the crystal of his brow, And then the dimple of his chin; All these did my Campaspe win. At last he set her both his eyes, She won, and Cupid blind did rise. O Love! has she done this to thee? What shall, alas! become of me?
250 psl. - tis her privilege Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy...
261 psl. - CHILDREN love to listen to stories about their elders, when they were children ; to stretch their imagination to the conception of a traditionary great-uncle or grandame whom they never saw.