London Society, Volume 12;Volume 14

Voorkant
James Hogg, Florence Marryat
William Clowes and Sons, 1868

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Veelvoorkomende woorden en zinsdelen

Populaire passages

Pagina 538 - We build, we paint, we sing, we dance, as well; And learned Athens to our art must stoop, Could she behold us tumbling thro
Pagina 168 - In Lancelot — now I see thee what thou art, Thou art the highest and most human too, Not Lancelot, nor another. Is there none Will tell the King I love him tho
Pagina 192 - A THING of beauty is a joy for ever : Its loveliness increases ; it will never Pass into nothingness ; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Pagina 315 - And here had fall'na great part of a tower, Whole, like a crag that tumbles from the cliff, And like a crag was gay with wilding flowers : And high above a piece of turret stair, Worn by the feet that now were silent, wound Bare to the sun, and monstrous ivy-stems...
Pagina 184 - the cooling western breeze," In the next line, " it whispers through the trees : " If crystal streams " with pleasing murmurs creep...
Pagina 551 - O, what a glory doth this world put on For him who, with a fervent heart, goes forth Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks On duties well performed, and days well spent ! For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves, Shall have a voice, and give .him eloquent teachings. He shall so hear the solemn hymn, that Death Has lifted up for all, that he shall go To his long resting-place without a tear.
Pagina 539 - Johnson's face shone with meridian splendour, though his drink had been only lemonade...
Pagina 321 - Here will I sit and wait, While to my ear from uplands far away The bleating of the folded flocks is borne, With distant cries of reapers in the corn — All the live murmur of a summer's day. Screen'd is this nook o'er the high, half-reap'd field, And here till sun-down, shepherd ! will I be. Through the thick corn the scarlet poppies peep...
Pagina 557 - Pray, do not mock me : I am a very foolish fond old man, Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less; And, to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind. Methinks I should know you, and know this man; Yet I am doubtful: for I am mainly ignorant What place this is; and all the skill I have Remembers not these garments; nor I know not Where I did lodge last night.
Pagina 167 - There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate, She is coming, my dove, my dear; She is coming, my life, my fate. The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near ;" And the white rose weeps, "She is late;" The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;" And the lily whispers, "I wait.

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