New Monthly Magazine, and Universal Register, Volume 100Thomas Campbell, Samuel Carter Hall, Edward Bulwer Lytton Baron Lytton, Theodore Edward Hook, Thomas Hood, William Harrison Ainsworth, William Ainsworth Henry Colburn, 1854 |
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Alexis Annabel Annesley appeared army asked Baronet Bassingbourne beautiful Café called Canek Captain Cassidy cavalry Chiavenna Christian Cossacks Courcy cried Danube daughter dear dinner door doubt DUDLEY COSTELLO Emperor England English exclaimed eyes fancy favour feel Florence French gentleman German Giaour girl give glaciers Godfrey gold hand head heard heart honour horse hour Juddock Juniper lady live London look Lord Lugano matter Michael Cassidy Mick Cassidy mind Miss Montfichet morning mountains Napoleon Narbonne nature never night Norway Odorante once Palais Royal passed poet present remarkable replied round Russian Scheick Ul Islam side Sir Gilbert snow soon spirit Squire stood sultan Tayasal tell thee things thou thought tion took Tsar Turkey turned Varna Véron versts Villemain wife words young
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Página 134 - A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food, For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
Página 373 - A long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull all together ! [Cries, and drops his face on arm, upon table.
Página 343 - ... a multitude of pillars and white domes, clustered into a long low pyramid of coloured light; a treasure-heap, it seems, partly of gold, and partly of opal and mother-of-pearl, hollowed beneath into five great vaulted porches, ceiled with fair mosaic, and beset with sculpture of alabaster, clear as amber and delicate as ivory...
Página 293 - The ground of the mistake is, that men, finding in the raptures of the higher poetry a condition of exaltation, to which they have no parallel in their own experience, besides the spurious resemblance of it in dreams and fevers, impute a state of dreaminess and fever to the poet. But the true poet dreams being awake. He is not possessed by his subject, but has dominion over it.
Página 1 - If we offend, it is with our good will. That you should think we come not to offend, But with good will. To show our simple skill, That is the true beginning of our end. Consider then, we come but in despite. We do not come as minding to content you, Our true intent is. All for your delight, We are not here. That you should here repent you, The actors are at hand ; and, by their show, You shall know all that you are like to know.
Página 42 - The bridegroom sea Is toying with the shore, his wedded bride, And, in the fulness of his marriage joy, He decorates her tawny brow with shells, Retires a space, to see how fair she looks, Then proud runs up to kiss her.
Página 77 - ... Dreams, The passion-winged Ministers of thought, Who were his flocks, whom near the living streams Of his young spirit he fed, and whom he taught The love which was its music, wander not, — • Wander no more, from kindling brain to brain, But droop there, whence they sprung; and mourn their lot Round the cold heart, where, after their sweet pain, They ne'er will gather strength, or find a home again.
Página 247 - And Dryden, in immortal strain, Had raised the Table Round again, But that a ribald King and Court Bade him toil on, to make them sport ; Demanded for their niggard pay, Fit for their souls, a looser lay, Licentious satire, song, and play ; The world defrauded of the high design, Profan'd the God-given strength, and marr'd the lofty line.
Página 334 - The Venice of modern fiction and drama is a thing of yesterday, a mere efflorescence of decay, a stage dream which the first ray of daylight must dissipate into dust. No prisoner whose name is worth remembering, or whose sorrow deserved sympathy, ever crossed that "Bridge of Sighs...
Página 344 - Between that grim cathedral of England and this, what an interval ! There is a type of it in the very birds that haunt them; for, instead of the restless crowd, hoarse-voiced and sable-winged, drifting on the bleak upper air, the St Mark's porches are full of doves, that nestle among the marble foliage, and mingle the soft iridescence of their living plumes, changing at every motion, with the tints, hardly less lovely, that have stood unchanged for seven hundred years.