New Monthly Magazine, Том 63

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Thomas Campbell, Samuel Carter Hall, Edward Bulwer Lytton Baron Lytton, Theodore Edward Hook, Thomas Hood, William Harrison Ainsworth
Henry Colburn, 1841
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Стр. 444 - Fountain heads, and pathless groves, Places which pale passion loves ! Moonlight walks, when all the fowls Are warmly housed, save bats and owls ! A midnight bell, a parting groan ! These are the sounds we feed upon ; Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley, Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.
Стр. 140 - ... not only witty himself, but the cause of wit in others, he is an admirable companion for youthful idleness and levity.
Стр. 439 - But the cormorant and the bittern shall possess it; The owl also and the raven shall dwell in it: And he shall stretch out upon it the line of confusion, And the stones of emptiness.
Стр. 439 - Ebrew and Greeke, and conferred with the best Translations in divers Languages. With most profitable Annotations upon all the hard places, and other things of great importance.
Стр. 439 - There shall the great owl make her nest, and lay, and hatch, and gather under her shadow : there shall the vultures also be gathered, every one with her mate.
Стр. 444 - She maketh answer to the clock, Four for the quarters, and twelve for the hour ; Ever and aye, by shine and shower, Sixteen...
Стр. 439 - The wild beasts of the desert shall also meet with the wild beasts of the island, and the satyr shall cry to his fellow ; the screech-owl also shall rest there, and find for herself a place of rest.
Стр. 414 - Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun, When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, Glistering with dew; fragrant the fertile earth After soft showers; and sweet the coming on Of grateful evening
Стр. 444 - Harke! the ravenne flappes hys wynge, In the briered delle belowe; Harke! the dethe-owle loude dothe synge, To the nyghte-mares as heie goe; Mie love ys dedde, Gonne to hys deathe-bedde, Al under the wyllowe tree.
Стр. 96 - John Keats, who was killed off by one critique, Just as he really promised something great, If not intelligible, without Greek Contrived to talk about the gods of late, Much as they might have been supposed to speak. Poor fellow ! His was an untoward fate ; 'Tis strange the mind, that very fiery particle, Should let itself be snuffed out by an article.

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