Theatrical Portraits: With Other Poems

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J. Miller, 1822 - 151 Seiten
 

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Seite 11 - There was a laughing Devil in his sneer, That raised emotions both of rage and fear; And where his frown of hatred darkly fell, Hope withering fled, and Mercy sigh'd farewell!
Seite 117 - Or find some ruin, midst its dreary dells, Whose walls more awful nod By thy religious gleams. Or if chill blustering winds, or driving rain Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut That from the mountain's side Views wilds, and swelling floods, And hamlets brown, and dim-discovered spires; And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all Thy dewy fingers draw The gradual dusky veil.
Seite 112 - Th' undoubting heart, that breaks with sadness, Is but more .slowly doomed to break. Absence ! is not the soul torn by it . From more than light, or life, or breath ? Tis Lethe's gloom, but not its quiet — The pain without the peace of death ! SONG.
Seite 21 - Now lost to all. her friends, her virtue fled, Near her betrayer's door she lays her head...
Seite 104 - O'er thee let years so gently fall, They shall not crush one flower beneath. As half in shade and half in sun This world along its path advances, May that side the sun's upon Be all that e'er shall meet thy glances ! COMMON SENSE AND GENIUS.
Seite 28 - twas natural, 'twas all their own. A Garrick's genius must our wonder raise, But gives his mimic no reflected praise. Thrice happy Genius, whose unrival'd name Shall live for ever in the voice of Fame ! 'Tis thine to lead, with more than magic skill, The train of captive passions at thy will ; To bid the bursting tear spontaneous flow In the sweet sense of sympathetic woe...
Seite 34 - ... show that you have heard it before : take care that you don't call me by my Christian name, and then pretend it was by accident ; that shall be transportation at least: and when I drink a health to all friends, don't fancy that any of you are in the number. Enter a Servant.
Seite 133 - Oh, the grave!— the grave! — It buries every error — covers every defect — extinguishes every resentment! From its peaceful bosom spring none but fond regrets and tender recollections.
Seite 90 - My Mary ! when each summer flow'r Is blooming in its pride again, I'll fly to thee, and one sweet hour Shall pay me for an age of pain. One gentle word — one dear caress — One look or smile will then suffice To welcome, from the wilderness, A wand'rer into Paradise. Tho...

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