The Midsummer Medley: A Series of Comic Tales ... in Prose and Verse, Volume 1H. Colburn & R. Bentley, 1832 |
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The Midsummer Medley: A Series of Comic Tales ... in Prose and Verse, Volume 2 Horace Smith Visualização completa - 1832 |
The Midsummer Medley: A Series of Comic Tales ... in Prose and Verse Horace Smith Prévia não disponível - 2020 |
The Midsummer Medley: A Series of Comic Tales ... in Prose and Verse Horace Smith Prévia não disponível - 2020 |
Termos e frases comuns
Absalon Alfonso amid Apollo Aquileia Argeus arms Basil beau ideal beautiful behold beneath birds bishop bosom Bryan O'Blarney Cappadocia Cesarea chase chre church Clara cried dagger dark dear Decurion delight dogs Drusilla ears Emperor Eustatia exclaimed eyes father fear fell Flavius flowers gazed hand Hatem Hatem Tai head hear heard heart Heaven hideous Higginbotham holy horror Howbeit Image Boy Julia Donna Kilraly King lance light look loud Margaret Douglas Mary Flanigan mistress morning Mount Olympus mountain murder mysterious never night Norah Novel passed Pertinax pipe of peace pleasant post 8vo Prætorian guards RICHARD BENTLEY round royal pavilion rushed Saint Saint Basil seemed sepulchre shudder Sir Lyon Sir Valentine sith skull soul sound suddenly sword temple Terence Quin thee theorbo thou thought threw thrilling tion Tom-Thumb trees uttered Valentine of Syracuse voice ween whereof whisper whole wife wild wonder wretched
Passagens mais conhecidas
Página 221 - Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood; Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres; Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand on end, Like quills upon the fretful porcupine : But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood : — List, list, O list ! — If thou didst ever thy dear father love, Ham.
Página 18 - Till o'er the wreck, emerging from the storm, Immortal nature lifts her changeful form, Mounts from her funeral pyre on wings of flame, And soars and shines, another and the same...
Página 122 - Avaunt ! and quit my sight ! let the earth hide thee ! Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold ; Thou hast no speculation in those eyes Which thou dost glare with.
Página 216 - Winning, above a world o'erwhelm'd with wrath. Its peaceful path. O Bower of Bliss! O Sanctuary holy! Terrestrial antepast of heavenly joy! Never! oh, never may misdeed or folly My claim to thy beatitudes destroy! Still may I keep this Paradise unlost, Where'er I'm tost.
Página 221 - You are aware, of course, that, according to the Arabian creed, a bird, called Manoh, issues from the brain of every dead person, and haunts his sepulchre, uttering lamentable screams, and divulging to the ears of the initiated all the secrets and the crimes of the defunct ? Shall I reveal some of these drrad mysteries? No : ' this eternal blazon must not be to ears of flesh and blood.
Página 219 - qu'il avoit la foi du charbonnier." Your's must be as implicit and omnivorous. I will have no uplifting of hands, no enlarging of eyes, — not one of Mr. Fudge BurchelTs exclamations. If you cannot, upon the present pinch, suppose the flat ceiling of the room in which you are reading to be the pointed top of a tent, and yonder draperied window to be the opening in its front, commanding an extensive view over the great wilderness of Paran, it will be of no use to listen to me. — Look ! yonder...
Página 219 - ... to that of the ancient Pythoness. One cross-legged personage I must have, at all events, to prevent my imagination from flagging; and, as there is no tailor at hand, thou, gentle Reader, must submit to the operation. There! that attitude will do perfectly well; your chair looks like an ottoman; you yourself have the aspect of a Turk; and, as far as exteriors go, there is nothing farther to be desired of either. But have you prepared your mind, most accommodating Reader, as well as your body ?...
Página 216 - And sheltered from the storm, the soul may rest On its own nest ! When, spleenful as the sensitive Mimosa, We shrink from winter's touch and Nature's gloom, There may we conjure up a Vallombrosa, Where groves and bowers in summer beauty bloom...
Página 215 - But that the man oppressed, the spirit-wounded, And all beneath the world's injustice bent, Might turn from outward wrong, turmoil, and din, To peace within. Each bosom is a temple when its altar, The living heart, is unprofaned and pure. Its verge is hallowed: none need fear or falter Who thither fly; it is an ark secure, Winning, above a world o'erwhelmed with wrath, Its peaceful path.