The Gentleman's Magazine, Volum 302

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Bradbury, Evans, 1907
 

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PÓgina 471 - Here lies Fred, Who was alive, and is dead. Had it been his father, I had much rather. Had it been his brother, Still better than another. Had it been his sister, No one would have missed her. Had it been the whole generation, Still better for the nation. But since 'tis only Fred, Who was alive, and is dead, There's no more to be said.
PÓgina 389 - 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.
PÓgina 275 - O how canst thou renounce the boundless store Of charms which Nature to her votary yields ? The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields...
PÓgina 127 - O Bells of San Bias, in vain Ye call back the Past again ! The Past is deaf to your prayer : Out of the shadows of night The world rolls into- light ; It is daybreak everywhere.
PÓgina 273 - Not long ago I began a poem in the style and stanza of Spenser, in which I propose to give full scope to my inclination, and be either droll or pathetic, descriptive or sentimental, tender or satirical, as the humour strikes me; for, if I mistake not, the measure which I have adopted admits equally of all these kinds of composition.
PÓgina 86 - A woman when she is in travail hath sorrow, because her hour is come: but as soon as she is delivered of the child, she remembereth no more the anguish, for joy that a man is born into the world.
PÓgina 596 - 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?
PÓgina 389 - Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer, Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here; Here still is the smile, that no cloud can o'ercast, And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last. Oh! what was love made for, if 'tis not the same Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame? I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart, I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art. Thou hast...
PÓgina 270 - But who the melodies of morn can tell ? — The wild brook babbling down the mountain side ; The lowing herd ; the sheepfold's simple bell ; The pipe of early shepherd dim descried In the lone valley...
PÓgina 507 - ROBIN HOOD and Little John, They both are gone to the fair, O ! And we will go to the merry green- wood, To see what they do there, O ! And for to chase, O ! To chase the buck and doe.

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