Papers of the Manchester Literary Club, 22. kötetH. Rawson & Company, 1896 |
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admiration Ainsworth Andrew Andrew Borde appeared Artemidora artist ballad Ballantrae beauty Benjamin Brierley Brierley called Castle Caulfield character Charles Charles Lamb charm Church conceits death delight doth English eyes Failsworth fame father Ford Madox Brown friends Gebir genius GEORGE MILNER give heart Henry Henry Purcell honour Hood humour interest John John Addington Symonds JOHN MORTIMER King lady Lancashire Landor lines literature living London Lord matter Merry Andrew mind Muse nature never night novel once paper play poem poet poetic poetry praise present prose published Purcell Purcell's reader says scene Shakespeare ship sing song Sonnet soul spirit story Street style sweet Tasso thee things Thomas Thomas Hood thou thought tion Torquato Tasso trees true verse William William Shakespeare words write written wrote youth
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87. oldal - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning.
259. oldal - If music be the food of love, play on ; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again ! it had a dying fall : O ! it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour.
259. oldal - Ha, ha ! keep time : — how sour sweet music is, When time is broke and no proportion kept ! So is it in the music of men's lives.
118. oldal - What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones, The labour of an age in piled stones, Or that his hallowed relics should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of Fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a livelong monument.
74. oldal - The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed, Lets in new light through chinks that Time hath made: Stronger by weakness, wiser men become As they draw near to their eternal home: Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view That stand upon the threshold of the new.
32. oldal - s cheek (but none knows how) ; With these the crystal of his brow, And then the dimple of his chin, — All these did my Campaspe win. At last he set her both his eyes ; She won, and Cupid blind did rise. O Love! has she done this to thee? What shall, alas! become of me?
74. oldal - The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er; So, calm are we when passions are no more! For then we know how vain it was to boast Of fleeting things, so certain to be lost.
79. oldal - Thus with the year Seasons return, but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine...
91. oldal - Sweet Mary, thou art dead! If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art, All cold and all serene, I still might press thy silent heart, And where thy smiles have been. While e'en thy chill, bleak corse I have, Thou seemest still mine own; But there I lay thee in thy grave, — And I am now alone! I do not think, where'er thou art, Thou hast forgotten me; And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart In thinking, too, of thee; Yet there was round thee such a dawn Of light ne'er seen before, As fancy never could...
46. oldal - MARK how the lark and linnet sing ; With rival notes They strain their warbling throats, To welcome in the spring.