The Pocket magazine of classic and polite literature. [Continued as] The Pocket magazine1833 |
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Сторінка 21
... your young friend should be connected with Cronstadt's gang , and refuse to confess , a confession will , in the first instance , be wrung from him by tortures , and in the next —— " Good Heavens ! Fritz ! " cried the horror THE BANDIT .
... your young friend should be connected with Cronstadt's gang , and refuse to confess , a confession will , in the first instance , be wrung from him by tortures , and in the next —— " Good Heavens ! Fritz ! " cried the horror THE BANDIT .
Сторінка 22
" Good Heavens ! Fritz ! " cried the horror - struck baron , " what can be done to save this poor wretched youth ? I would set off myself this very moment for Wirtemberg were I not hastening home to take measures in search of my lost ...
" Good Heavens ! Fritz ! " cried the horror - struck baron , " what can be done to save this poor wretched youth ? I would set off myself this very moment for Wirtemberg were I not hastening home to take measures in search of my lost ...
Сторінка 23
... cried the enraged baron , " I insist upon it ! You decoyed her from home , and if I find , " clenching his fists at him , " if I find - you understand me - by God , sir , but you shall dearly pay for it ! " " Baron , " answered Frederic ...
... cried the enraged baron , " I insist upon it ! You decoyed her from home , and if I find , " clenching his fists at him , " if I find - you understand me - by God , sir , but you shall dearly pay for it ! " " Baron , " answered Frederic ...
Сторінка 27
... cried the forelorn captive ; " yes , yes , I understand , -he who comes privily to take my life is indeed a friend , since he closes my mortal sufferings . Welcome then , my friend , — but be merciful , and strike surely . " " No - no ...
... cried the forelorn captive ; " yes , yes , I understand , -he who comes privily to take my life is indeed a friend , since he closes my mortal sufferings . Welcome then , my friend , — but be merciful , and strike surely . " " No - no ...
Сторінка 61
... cried the new - comer , " I've travelled these long twenty miles , and dreamed of nothing but smoking steaks and foaming ale ; but I see nothing but a pipe as long as my arm , and hear nothing but quarrelling fowls on the roost , which ...
... cried the new - comer , " I've travelled these long twenty miles , and dreamed of nothing but smoking steaks and foaming ale ; but I see nothing but a pipe as long as my arm , and hear nothing but quarrelling fowls on the roost , which ...
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The Pocket magazine of classic and polite literature. [Continued as ..., Том 9 Повний перегляд - 1822 |
The Pocket magazine of classic and polite literature. [Continued as ..., Том 8 Повний перегляд - 1821 |
Загальні терміни та фрази
Adelinda Albruzzo Amalberga appeared arms baron beauty Black Forest bosom breath bright brow called Callisthenes castle countenance country comforts cried Cuvier dark daughter dead dear death deep delight door dream Duke of Rothesay earth East Woodhay EDWARD ALLEYN Elvira exclaimed eyes fair father fear feel feet forest gentleman Geshie Glendhu grey friar hand hath head heard heart heaven Heloise Hernando Herrman honor hope hour Jack king knew Koenigsberg lady Letty light lips live look Lord Lysimachus Meinheim mind mountains nature NELL GWYN never night o'er passed Pevensey Pierrot poor possession prince racter replied returned round Rubezahl scarcely scene seemed smile soon sorrow soul spirit Stadtholder stood sweet tears tell thee thing thou thought Verstegan voice Wahabees whilst wild words wretched young youth
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Сторінка 57 - Peace, peace ! he is not dead, he doth not sleep ! He hath awakened from the dream of life. 'Tis we who, lost in stormy visions, keep With phantoms an unprofitable strife, And in mad trance strike with our spirit's knife Invulnerable nothings. We decay Like corpses in a charnel ; fear and grief Convulse us and consume us day by day, And cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay. He has outsoared the shadow of our night...
Сторінка 192 - ... but the dove found no rest for the sole of her foot, and she returned unto him into the ark...
Сторінка 271 - The stars are forth, the moon above the tops Of the snow-shining mountains. — Beautiful ! I linger yet with Nature, for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man; and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness, I learn'd the language of another world.
Сторінка 113 - That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days : So full of dismal terror was the time.
Сторінка 129 - Oh! laughingly My little brothers round the warm hearth crowd, Our home-fire blazes broad, and bright, and high, And the roof rings with voices light and loud: Spare me awhile! raise up my drooping brow! I am content to die — but, oh! not now!
Сторінка 242 - OH ! beautiful thou art, Thou sculpture-like and stately River-Queen ! Crowning the depths, as with the light serene Of a pure heart. Bright lily of the wave ! Rising in fearless grace with every swell, Thou seem'st as if a spirit meekly brave Dwelt in thy cell...
Сторінка 181 - And whereas the Laws of England are the birthright of the people thereof, and all the Kings and Queens, who shall ascend the Throne of this realm, ought to administer the Government of the same according to the said laws, and all their officers and ministers ought to serve them respectively according to the same...
Сторінка 129 - Summer is gone ; and autumn's soberer hues Tint the ripe fruits, and gild the waving corn ; The huntsman swift the flying game pursues, Shouts the halloo ! and winds his eager horn. " Spare me awhile, to wander forth and gaze On the broad meadows, and the quiet stream, To watch in silence while the evening rays Slant through the fading trees with ruddy gleam ! Cooler the breezes play around my brow ; I am content to die, — but oh ! not now...
Сторінка 222 - He hung his head ; each nobler aim And hope and feeling, which had slept From boyhood's hour, that instant came Fresh o'er him, and he wept — he wept ! Blest tears of soul-felt penitence ! In whose benign, redeeming flow Is felt the first, the only sense Of guiltless joy that guilt can know.
Сторінка 236 - The hoary fool, who many days Has struggled with continued sorrow, Renews his hope, and blindly lays The desperate bet upon to-morrow. To-morrow comes ; 'tis noon, 'tis night ; This day like all the former flies : Yet on he runs, to seek delight To-morrow, till to-night he dies.