Eliza Cook's Journal, Volumen7Eliza Cook John Owen Clarke, 1852 |
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Página 4
... dear mother , do not be angry . " Returning his embrace , she asks , " Did James meet you , Hugo ? " " He did ; he came straight to me . " " Thank Heaven it is no subterfuge upon your part , my dear boy ! he told me he knew not where ...
... dear mother , do not be angry . " Returning his embrace , she asks , " Did James meet you , Hugo ? " " He did ; he came straight to me . " " Thank Heaven it is no subterfuge upon your part , my dear boy ! he told me he knew not where ...
Página 6
... dear Mr. Lisborne- " " Make your excuses in that direction , Mr. Pen- darves , I have some pressing business for the next hour , " replied John , cutting short Hugo's reply by pointing in the direction of Maude , and leaving the room ...
... dear Mr. Lisborne- " " Make your excuses in that direction , Mr. Pen- darves , I have some pressing business for the next hour , " replied John , cutting short Hugo's reply by pointing in the direction of Maude , and leaving the room ...
Página 7
... dear Maude . " " Leave me , sir ; you have deceived me , " said she ; adding , as she erected her head , " You have condescended to a falsehood ; upon no pretence whatever must this house be troubled with Yon your presence . No reply ...
... dear Maude . " " Leave me , sir ; you have deceived me , " said she ; adding , as she erected her head , " You have condescended to a falsehood ; upon no pretence whatever must this house be troubled with Yon your presence . No reply ...
Página 9
... dear spring , with thy tender voice and holy tears , how do men bless thee for thy gifts of love ! greener moss , greener grass , blinking sunshine , softer air , crocuses , daffodils , buttercups , - As if the rainbows of the fresh ...
... dear spring , with thy tender voice and holy tears , how do men bless thee for thy gifts of love ! greener moss , greener grass , blinking sunshine , softer air , crocuses , daffodils , buttercups , - As if the rainbows of the fresh ...
Página 10
... dear to the Season of Buttercups , - -a consequential , striding wiseacre , for ever foraging by the unfrozen spring for delicate morsels of insect life ; a thorough Briton , nevertheless , who sticks to the land that gave him birth ...
... dear to the Season of Buttercups , - -a consequential , striding wiseacre , for ever foraging by the unfrozen spring for delicate morsels of insect life ; a thorough Briton , nevertheless , who sticks to the land that gave him birth ...
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Términos y frases comunes
admiration Australia beautiful better bird called Captain character Charles Atkins Charles Robinson child cold Curlew dear death England English exclaimed eyes fairy fairy rings father fear feeling Fleet Street flowers Geelong gentleman girl give gold green hand happy Harry Hartley head heard heart honour hope hour Hugo human Irish Jamaica kind labour lady land leave light living London look marriage matter Maude mind moral morning mother N. P. Willis nature never night once passed Pendarves Penshurst person poem poet poor Prosper Merimée replied round scarcely Scotland seemed servant smile society songs soon soul spirit Street Sydney tell thee things thou thought tion town Vivian Grey voice Wargrave wife wind woman words write young Zenobia
Pasajes populares
Página 224 - Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore, Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore Of 'Never — nevermore.
Página 66 - Swinging slow with sullen roar; Or if the air will not permit, Some still removed place will fit, Where glowing embers through the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom, Far from all resort of mirth, Save the cricket on the hearth, Or the bellman's drowsy charm To bless the doors from nightly harm.
Página 10 - He that at midnight, when the very labourer sleeps securely, should hear, as I have very often, the clear airs, the sweet descants, the natural rising and falling, the doubling and redoubling of her voice, might well be lifted above earth, and say, Lord, what music hast thou provided for the Saints in Heaven, when thou affordest bad men such music on Earth...
Página 130 - The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
Página 130 - Oft, on a plat of rising ground, I hear the far-off curfew sound Over some wide-watered shore. Swinging slow with sullen roar...
Página 45 - Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked, upstarting 'Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
Página 223 - Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, Ghastly, grim, and ancient Raven wandering from the nightly shore : Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's Plutonian shore!
Página 223 - Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore — Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; Tis the wind and nothing more.
Página 224 - And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor: And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted — nevermore!
Página 353 - Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves ; And ye that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him, When he comes back...