Ainsworth's Magazine: A Miscellany of Romance, General Literature, & Art, Volum 6William Harrison Ainsworth Chapman and Hall, 1844 |
Des de l'interior del llibre
Resultats 1 - 5 de 46.
Pàgina 17
... play these tricks ! " roared the serjeant in a voice of thunder , and shaking them off with a force that astonished them . But what was their terror and amazement to see him slip his right arm out of the sling , pull off the bandage and ...
... play these tricks ! " roared the serjeant in a voice of thunder , and shaking them off with a force that astonished them . But what was their terror and amazement to see him slip his right arm out of the sling , pull off the bandage and ...
Pàgina 20
... play , " I cried . Here is a woman dying Soon a little crowd had gathered around , and lights were brought ; but the woman had died in my arms . " How pale he looks ! " noted one , observing my features . " How he shakes ! " said ...
... play , " I cried . Here is a woman dying Soon a little crowd had gathered around , and lights were brought ; but the woman had died in my arms . " How pale he looks ! " noted one , observing my features . " How he shakes ! " said ...
Pàgina 30
... play , for that night only , the character she came out in . To make the evening more attractive , a celebrated danseuse will sing a song , and a famous singer will dance the cachuca . The whole will conclude with a scene from Norma ...
... play , for that night only , the character she came out in . To make the evening more attractive , a celebrated danseuse will sing a song , and a famous singer will dance the cachuca . The whole will conclude with a scene from Norma ...
Pàgina 53
... play it still . In spite of them , I shall escape . Escape ! And am I then brought to such a pass as to think my greatest good is in suc- cessful flight ? O , Manesty , thy pride , and cruelty , and selfishness , have ruined thee ! Thou ...
... play it still . In spite of them , I shall escape . Escape ! And am I then brought to such a pass as to think my greatest good is in suc- cessful flight ? O , Manesty , thy pride , and cruelty , and selfishness , have ruined thee ! Thou ...
Pàgina 61
... play . And who is he ? I know him not ; but ages will . ' Tis a high intellect . " LORD BYRON . ; THERE can be no surer test of surpassing excellence in art than the voice of common fame . When a name has become " familiar in men's ...
... play . And who is he ? I know him not ; but ages will . ' Tis a high intellect . " LORD BYRON . ; THERE can be no surer test of surpassing excellence in art than the voice of common fame . When a name has become " familiar in men's ...
Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
Ainsworth's Magazine: A Miscellany of Romance, General Literature ..., Volum 4 William Harrison Ainsworth Visualització completa - 1843 |
Ainsworth's Magazine: A Miscellany of Romance, General Literature ..., Volum 19 Visualització completa - 1851 |
Frases i termes més freqüents
Aleppo Amanus ancient Antioch appeared arrived Auriol Baldred beauty Bimbelot brought called Captain character church Colonel Commagena cried Doctor door Doyle duchess Duchess of Marlborough duke Euphrates exclaimed eyes father favour feeling French Gindarus give Guiscard hand Harley head heard heart honour horse hour Hugh Kate king Kurds lady live look lord madam Manesty Marlborough Masham miles mind morning nature never night occasion once Othello party passed passion Pat Doyle Patrick Doyle person PHAON plain Plumpton poet Polka Party poor present Proddy queen rejoined rendered replied returned river Roman round ruins Sacheverell Saint-John Sandman SAPHO Savidge scene seemed serjeant shew side spirit stood Strabo Syria Tamworth thee Theocritus thing thou thought Tinker tion took town Turkomans turned Varnham village voice Westerwood wife woman words young
Passatges populars
Pàgina 179 - And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes. Now, Lycidas, the Shepherds weep no more; Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore, In thy large recompense, and shalt be good To all that wander in that perilous flood.
Pàgina 179 - Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears ; Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffodillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.
Pàgina 495 - God ! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain : To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run: How many make the hour full complete, How many hours bring about the day, How many days will finish up the year, How many years a mortal man may live.
Pàgina 83 - Dis's waggon! daffodils That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath...
Pàgina 395 - Where some, like magistrates, correct at home, Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad, Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds ; Which pillage they with merry march bring...
Pàgina 308 - He hath put down the mighty from their seat : and hath exalted the humble and meek.
Pàgina 391 - And every sweetness that inspired their hearts, Their minds, and muses on admired themes ; If all the heavenly quintessence they still From their immortal flowers of poesy, Wherein, as in a mirror, we perceive The highest reaches of a human wit ; If these had made one poem's period, And all combined in beauty's worthiness, Yet should there hover in their restless heads One thought, one grace, one wonder, at the least, Which into words no virtue can digest...
Pàgina 280 - tis, that you should carry me away: And trust me not, my friends, if, every day, I walk not here with more delight, Than ever, after the most happy fight, In triumph to the capitol I rode, To thank the gods, and to be thought, myself, almost a god.
Pàgina 279 - Hail, old patrician trees, so great and good! Hail, ye plebeian under-wood ! Where the poetic birds rejoice, And for their quiet nests and plenteous food Pay, with their grateful voice. Hail, the poor Muses...
Pàgina 485 - Ave Maria ! blessed be the hour ! The time, the clime, the spot, where I so oft Have felt that moment in its fullest power Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft, While swung the deep bell in the distant tower. Or the faint dying day-hymn stole aloft, And not a breath crept through the rosy air, And yet the forest leaves seem'd stirr'd with prayer.