The New Mirror, Том 3George Pope Morris, Nathaniel Parker Willis Morris, Willis & Company, 1844 |
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Стр. 3
... soon be taught otherwise . Do you think that , in our enlightened times , when the artist overleaps all minor obstacles , that a composer should curb , on your account , the glorious sweep of his imagination ? The object is not now ...
... soon be taught otherwise . Do you think that , in our enlightened times , when the artist overleaps all minor obstacles , that a composer should curb , on your account , the glorious sweep of his imagination ? The object is not now ...
Стр. 17
... soon won the heart of the young and ardent Italian girl , and loving only too well , though too unwisely , she fled from her home with Gironomo . A few days , and the peasant's dis- guise was changed for the brigand's less peaceful ...
... soon won the heart of the young and ardent Italian girl , and loving only too well , though too unwisely , she fled from her home with Gironomo . A few days , and the peasant's dis- guise was changed for the brigand's less peaceful ...
Стр. 19
... soon as she perceived him at a distance , Ebba would utter a cry of joy , and run to meet him , followed by her mother ; the happy father wound his arms in those of his two loved ones , and entered his house , where the kind smile of ...
... soon as she perceived him at a distance , Ebba would utter a cry of joy , and run to meet him , followed by her mother ; the happy father wound his arms in those of his two loved ones , and entered his house , where the kind smile of ...
Стр. 20
... soon formi- dable . One evening the three women , weeping , left the house to take refuge in a poor chamber in the Mosebacke , the quarter in Stockholm inhabited by the poor , and whose muddy and unhealthy streets have not their equal ...
... soon formi- dable . One evening the three women , weeping , left the house to take refuge in a poor chamber in the Mosebacke , the quarter in Stockholm inhabited by the poor , and whose muddy and unhealthy streets have not their equal ...
Стр. 21
... soon manifested by the grand maestro and the illustrious writer . " Oh ! " said Jean Paul , clasping his hands , " a purer voice never charmed human ears . Young girl , are you sure you are not an angel ? " Weber advanced towards her ...
... soon manifested by the grand maestro and the illustrious writer . " Oh ! " said Jean Paul , clasping his hands , " a purer voice never charmed human ears . Young girl , are you sure you are not an angel ? " Weber advanced towards her ...
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admiration appearance beautiful better bosom breath Brigadier bright Broadway called Catharine CATILINE Cebry character charming child Coningsby Coriolanus Correggio daughter dear delight door Douro dream dress earth Ebba exclaimed eyes face fair fancy father feel Felix Pyat flowers forecastle francs genius gentleman give grace hair hand happy head heart heaven honour hope hotel Lambert hour lady leave Leigh Hunt light lips live look Lord Madame marriage mind Mirror Miss Montalembert Montargis morning mother N. P. WILLIS nature never New-York night o'er once Orne Owego passed person pleasure poet polka reader replied Rococo Rosalie rose round Savigny seemed seen smile song soul spirit sweet Sylveria taste tears tell thee thing thou thought tion Triptolemus turned uncon voice walk wife wish woman word young
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Стр. 15 - Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired ; Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die, that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee ; How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair.
Стр. 153 - Looks through the horizontal misty air Shorn of his beams; or from behind the moon, In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs.
Стр. 15 - Go, lovely Rose ! Tell her, that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts, where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died.
Стр. 63 - How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank ! Here will we sit and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Стр. 94 - Many were the wit-combats betwixt him and Ben Jonson, which two I behold like a Spanish great galleon, and an English man-of-war ; Master Jonson (like the former) was built far higher in learning ; solid, but slow in his performances. Shakespeare...
Стр. 58 - t depends Not on the number, but the choice of friends. Books should, not business, entertain the light, And sleep, as undisturbed as death, the night. My house a cottage, more Than palace, and should fitting be For all my use, no luxury. My garden painted o'er With Nature's hand, not Art's ; and pleasures yield, Horace might envy in his Sabine field.
Стр. 94 - Soul of the age! The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! My Shakespeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie A little further, to make thee a room: Thou art a monument without a tomb, And art alive still while thy book doth live And we have wits to read and praise to give.
Стр. 60 - So serious should my youth appear among The thoughtless throng, So would I seem among the young and gay More grave than they, That in my age as cheerful I might be As the green winter of the Holly Tree, III LORD WILLIAM.
Стр. 66 - Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire Mirth and youth and warm desire ; Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long.
Стр. 272 - Oh ! it is great to shake off the trammels of the world and of public opinion — to lose our importunate, tormenting, everlasting personal identity in the elements of nature, and become the creature of the moment, clear of all ties — to hold to the universe only by a dish of sweetbreads, and to owe nothing but the score of the evening — and no longer seeking for applause and meeting with contempt, to be known by no other title than the Gentleman in the parlour!