The Cornhill Magazine, 11. kötet;15. kötet

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George Smith, William Makepeace Thackeray
Smith, Elder., 1865

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613. oldal - Why this is hell, nor am I out of it : Think'st thou that I who saw the face of God, And tasted the eternal joys of Heaven, Am not tormented with ten thousand hells, In being deprived of everlasting bliss ? O Faustus!
229. oldal - I've seen around me fall Like leaves in wintry weather; I feel like one Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, Whose garlands dead, And all but he departed...
615. oldal - t fools make such vain keeping ? Sin their conception, their birth weeping, Their life a general mist of error, Their death a hideous storm of terror. Strew your hair with powders sweet, Don clean linen, bathe your feet, And (the foul fiend more to check) A crucifix let bless your neck : 'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day ; End your groan, and come away.
45. oldal - I have almost forgot the taste of fears : The time has been, my senses would have cool'd To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir As life were in't: I have supp'd full with horrors; Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, Cannot once start me.
190. oldal - he that receiveth gifts overthroweth the land." v. 12. " if a ruler hearken to lies, all his servants are wicked." Eccles. iv. 13. " better is a poor and wise child, than an old and foolish king who will no more be admonished.
616. oldal - tis the soul of peace ; Of all the virtues 'tis nearest kin to heaven ; It makes men look like gods. The best of men That e'er wore earth about him was a sufferer, A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit, The first true gentleman that ever breath'd.
49. oldal - THE moon shines bright : — In such a night as this, When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, And they c.^!
613. oldal - tis too horrible ! The weariest and most loathed worldly life, That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment Can lay on nature, is a paradise To what we fear of death.
616. oldal - Then comfort, Mistress Frankford. You see your husband hath forgiven your fall ; Then, rouse your spirits and cheer your fainting soul. Susan. How is it with you?
612. oldal - Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice...

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