The Cornhill Magazine, Bände 42-43

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William Makepeace Thackeray
Smith, Elder., 1880
 

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Seite 22 - I hear! —But there's a Tree, of many, one, A single Field which I have looked upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone: The Pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
Seite 23 - In a thousand valleys far and wide, Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm, And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm:— I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!
Seite 362 - Keats, who was killed off by one critique, Just as he really promised something great, If not intelligible, without Greek Contrived to talk about the gods of late, Much as they might have been supposed to speak. Poor fellow ! His was an untoward fate ; 'Tis strange the mind, that very fiery particle, Should let itself be snuffed out by an article.
Seite 26 - There lies the port: the vessel puffs her sail: There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners, Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me — That ever with a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine...
Seite 226 - Was this the face that launched a thousand ships And burnt the topless towers of Ilium? Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss. Her lips suck forth my soul — see where it flies! Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again. Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips And all is dross that is not Helena.
Seite 26 - Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. Push off, and sitting well in order smite The sounding furrows; for my purpose...
Seite 27 - Love took up the glass of Time, and turned it in his glowing hands ; Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands. Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might — Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.
Seite 227 - Oh, thou art fairer than the evening air Clad in, the beauty of a thousand stars...
Seite 159 - Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun And descant on mine own deformity: And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Seite 577 - Garrick described her to me as very fat, with a bosom of more than ordinary protuberance, with swelled cheeks, of a florid red, produced by thick painting, and increased by the liberal use of cordials ; flaring and fantastic in her dress, and affected both in her speech and her general behaviour.

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