Prose and Verse, Том 1Wiley and Putnam, 1845 |
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Стр. 2
... suppose a set of spiteful imps sitting up aloft , to aggravate all his petty mundane annoy . ances ; whereas I prefer to believe in the ministry of kindlier Elves that " nod to me and do me courtesies . " Instead of scar- ing away these ...
... suppose a set of spiteful imps sitting up aloft , to aggravate all his petty mundane annoy . ances ; whereas I prefer to believe in the ministry of kindlier Elves that " nod to me and do me courtesies . " Instead of scar- ing away these ...
Стр. 37
... suppose that such a pale , pensive , peak- ing , sentimental , sonneteering countenance - with a wry mouth as if it always laughed on its wrong side - belonged bonâ fide to the Editor of the Comic - a Professor of the Pantagruelian Phi ...
... suppose that such a pale , pensive , peak- ing , sentimental , sonneteering countenance - with a wry mouth as if it always laughed on its wrong side - belonged bonâ fide to the Editor of the Comic - a Professor of the Pantagruelian Phi ...
Стр. 79
... suppose that an author must be always authoring , even with his feet on the fender . Nevertheless , it is not an un- common impression , that a writer sonnetizes his wife , sings odes to his children , talks essays and epigrams to his ...
... suppose that an author must be always authoring , even with his feet on the fender . Nevertheless , it is not an un- common impression , that a writer sonnetizes his wife , sings odes to his children , talks essays and epigrams to his ...
Стр. 90
... suppose to belong to the Bey of Tittery . The truth was , he felt naturally partial to a book he had attri- buted in the first instance to the dearest of his friends . " MY DEAR CHARLES , ―This afternoon , a little , thin , mean ...
... suppose to belong to the Bey of Tittery . The truth was , he felt naturally partial to a book he had attri- buted in the first instance to the dearest of his friends . " MY DEAR CHARLES , ―This afternoon , a little , thin , mean ...
Стр. 21
... suppose the springs are all dry . engine locked in the stable , for fear of a cut at the pipes . I'll send you down two more . Let all the laborers take a turn at them , by way of practice . I'm persuaded the Parliament houses were ...
... suppose the springs are all dry . engine locked in the stable , for fear of a cut at the pipes . I'll send you down two more . Let all the laborers take a turn at them , by way of practice . I'm persuaded the Parliament houses were ...
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American amongst autograph boys bread burning called Charles Lamb common Cornelius Mathews course Dame dead deaf dear door double dream English Eugene Aram eyes face fancy fear feel fire gentleman give gold Gold Sticks Golden Leg green hand head hear heart hope horse housis human interest labor lady Lamb letter light limb Lincolnshire literary literature living London look Lord Lord Byron mesmerism mind Miss Kilmansegg moral nature never night once Otto of Roses perhaps persons pigs Poet poor precious PUGSLEY Quaker remember seems Serjeant Talfourd short Sir Jacob Sir Walter Scott song sort soul sound spirit There's thing THOMAS HOOD tion tree Trumpet truth turn Twas voice walk Whigs whilst whisper whole witch write young yure
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Стр. 210 - Work - work work Till the brain begins to swim! Work - work - work Till the eyes are heavy and dim! Seam , and gusset , and band , Band , and gusset , and seam , Till over the buttons I fall asleep, And sew them on in a dream! "O men with sisters dear! O men with mothers and wives! It is not linen you're wearing out , But human creatures
Стр. 202 - Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing; Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing. Touch her not scornfully; Think of her mournfully, Gently and humanly; Not of the stains of her, All that remains of her Now is pure womanly. Make no deep scrutiny Into her mutiny Rash and undutiful: Past all dishonour Death has left on her Only the beautiful.
Стр. 210 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread, — Stitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, hunger and dirt; And still with a voice of dolorous pitch — Would that its tone could reach the rich ! — She sang the
Стр. 23 - And, long since then, of bloody men Whose deeds tradition saves; Of lonely folk cut off unseen, And hid in sudden graves ; Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn, And murders done in caves ; And how the sprites of injured men Shriek upward from the sod...
Стр. 130 - O'er all there hung a shadow and a fear ; A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, The place is Haunted!
Стр. 134 - For over all there hung a cloud of fear, A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, The place is Haunted ! PART III.
Стр. 181 - ... been a beauteous dream, If it had been no more ! Alas, alas, fair Ines, She went away with song ; With Music waiting on her steps, And shoutings of the throng. But some were sad and felt no mirth, But only Music's wrong, In sounds that sang Farewell, Farewell, To her you've loved so long. Farewell, farewell, fair Ines, That vessel never bore So fair a lady on its deck, Nor danced so light before, — Alas for pleasure on the sea, And sorrow on the shore ! The smile that blest one lover's heart...
Стр. 43 - Sir Anthony. I would by no means wish a daughter of mine to be a progeny of learning. I don't think so much learning becomes a young woman. For instance, I would never let her meddle with Greek, or Hebrew, or algebra, or simony, or fluxions, or paradoxes, or such inflammatory branches of learning; neither would it be necessary for her to handle any of your mathematical, astronomical, diabolical instruments.
Стр. 24 - And now, from forth the frowning sky, From the heaven's topmost height, I heard a voice — the awful voice Of the blood-avenging sprite: 'Thou guilty man! take up thy dead, And hide it from my sight...
Стр. 205 - Fashioned so slenderly, Young, and so fair! Ere her limbs frigidly Stiffen too rigidly, Decently, — kindly, — Smooth, and compose them; And her eyes, close them, Staring so blindly! Dreadfully staring Through muddy impurity, As when with the daring Last look of despairing Fixed on futurity. Perishing gloomily, Spurred by contumely, Cold inhumanity, Burning insanity, Into her rest, — Cross her hands humbly, As if praying dumbly, Over her breast! Owning her weakness, Her evil behaviour, And leaving,...