The St. Petersburg English review of literature, the arts and science, ed. by S. Warrand and T.B. Shaw

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S Warrand
1842
 

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Стр. 373 - Ecstasy! My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, And makes as healthful music. It is not madness That I have utter'd : bring me to the test, And I the matter will re-word, which madness Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass but my madness speaks; It will but skin and film the ulcerous place, Whiles rank corruption, mining all within, Infects unseen.
Стр. 174 - Fear ye not me? Saith the LORD: will ye not tremble at my presence, which have placed the sand for the bound of the sea by a perpetual decree, that it cannot pass it: and though the waves thereof toss themselves, yet can they not prevail; though they roar, yet can they not pass over it?
Стр. 231 - He is a middle-sized, spare man, about forty years old, of a brown complexion and darkbrown coloured hair, but wears a wig ; a hooked nose, a sharp chin, grey eyes, and a large mole near his mouth...
Стр. 118 - Since once I sat upon a promontory, And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back, Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, That the rude sea grew civil at her song ; And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, To hear the sea-maid's music.
Стр. 361 - I never saw them afterwards, or any sign of them except three of their hats, one cap, and two shoes that were not fellows.
Стр. 92 - The man that lays his hand upon a woman, Save in the way of kindness, is a wretch Whom 'twere gross flattery to name a coward.— I'll talk to you, lady, but not beat you.
Стр. 360 - Robinson Kreutznaer; but by the usual corruption of words in England we are now called, nay, we call ourselves, and write our name "Crusoe," and so my companions always called me.
Стр. 22 - The sun had long since, in the lap Of Thetis, taken out his nap, And, like a lobster boil'd, the morn From black to red began to turn...
Стр. 129 - For, so to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise; Ay me ! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurled; Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world...
Стр. 83 - twould a saint provoke," (Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke ;} " No, let a charming chintz and Brussels lace Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face : One would not, sure, be frightful when one's dead — And — Betty — give this cheek a little red.

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