The New monthly magazine and universal register. [Continued as] The New monthly magazine and literary journal (and humorist) [afterw.] The New monthly (magazine).

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174. oldal - It ceased; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook, In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune.
319. oldal - One fatal remembrance, one sorrow that throws, Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes, To which life nothing darker or brighter can bring, For which joy has no balm and affliction no sting...
56. oldal - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow ! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But little hell reck if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him...
230. oldal - T is as if a rough oak that for ages had stood, With his gnarled bony branches like ribs of the wood, Should bloom, after cycles of struggle and scathe, With a single anemone trembly and rathe ; His strength is so tender, his...
229. oldal - Mix well, and while stirring, hum o'er, as a spell, The fine old English Gentleman, simmer it well, Sweeten just to your own private liking, then strain, That only the finest and clearest remain, Let it stand out of doors till a soul it receives From the warm lazy sun loitering down through green leaves, And you'll find a choice nature, not wholly deserving A name either English or Yankee, — just Irving.
230. oldal - When Nature was shaping him, clay was not granted For making so full-sized a man as she wanted, So, to fill out her model, a little she spared From some finer-grained stuff for a woman prepared, And she could not have hit a more excellent plan For making him fully and perfectly man.
162. oldal - What then I was. The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion : the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite ; a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
111. oldal - sa background of god to each hard-working feature, Every word that he speaks has been fierily furnaced In the blast of a life that has struggled in earnest : There he stands, looking more like a ploughman than priest. If not dreadfully awkward, not graceful at least, His gestures all downright and same, if you will, As of brown-fisted Hobnail in hoeing a drill, But his periods fall on you, stroke after stroke, Like the blows of a lumberer felling an oak...
470. oldal - At supper this night he talked of good eating with uncommon satisfaction. " Some people," said he, " have a foolish way of not minding, or pretending not to mind, what they eat. For my part, I mind my belly very studiously, and very carefully ; for I look upon it, that he who does not mind his belly will hardly mind anything else.
179. oldal - Thou hast finished joy and moan : All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust. No exerciser harm thee ! Nor no witchcraft charm thee! Ghost unlaid forbear thee ! Nothing ill come near thee ! Quiet consummation have; And renowned be thy grave!

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