Bentley's Miscellany, 39. kötet

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78. oldal - That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please. Give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee.
155. oldal - For physic and farces his equal there scarce is— His farces are physic, his physic a farce is.
69. oldal - Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead ! Sit and watch by her side an hour. That is her book-shelf, this her bed; She plucked that piece of geranium-flower, Beginning to die too...
67. oldal - Oh, our manhood's prime vigour ! no spirit feels waste, Not a muscle is stopped in its playing, nor sinew unbraced. Oh, the wild joys of living! the leaping from rock up to rock — The strong rending of boughs from the fir-tree, — the cool silver shock Of the plunge in a pool's living water, — the hunt of the bear, And the sultriness showing the lion is couched in his lair. And the meal — the rich dates — yellowed over with gold dust divine, And the...
67. oldal - And I first played the tune all our sheep know, as, one after one, So docile they come to the pen-door till folding be done.
639. oldal - His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; And while he heaven and earth defied Changed his hand, and checked his pride. He chose a mournful Muse Soft pity to infuse : He sung Darius great and good, By too severe a fate Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, Fallen from his high estate, And weltering in his blood...
70. oldal - No, indeed ! for God above Is great to grant, as mighty to make, And creates the love to reward the love, — I claim you still, for my own love's sake ! Delayed it may be for more lives yet, Thro' worlds I shall traverse, not a few — Much is to learn and much to forget Ere the time be come for taking you.
318. oldal - And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, That readest this brief psalm, As one by one thy hopes depart Be resolute and calm. O fear not in a world like this, And thou shalt know ere long, Know how sublime a thing it is To suffer and be strong.
64. oldal - Rafael made a century of sonnets, Made and wrote them in a certain volume Dinted with the silver-pointed pencil Else he only used to draw Madonnas : These, the world might view — but One, the volume. Who that one, you ask? Your heart instructs you.
253. oldal - Women,' long ago Sung by the morning star of song, who made His music heard below; Dan Chaucer, the first warbler, whose sweet breath Preluded those melodious bursts that fill The spacious times of great Elizabeth With sounds that echo still.

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