Viola; or, 'Tis an old tale and often told, by I. Goldsmid, Volumen2

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G. Routledge, 1852 - 212 páginas

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Página 11 - She was a Phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely Apparition sent To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair; Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful Dawn; A dancing Shape, an Image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay.
Página 56 - I AM monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute ; From the centre all round to the sea I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
Página 23 - Of his chamber in the east. Meanwhile, welcome joy and feast, Midnight shout and revelry, Tipsy dance and jollity.
Página 25 - ... little did I dream that I should have lived to see such disasters fallen upon her in a nation of gallant men, in a nation of men of honour and of cavaliers. I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards to avenge even a look that threatened her with insult.
Página 198 - All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence? We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, Have with our needles created both one flower, Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, Both warbling of one song, both in one key; As if our hands, our sides...
Página 75 - Ah ! what a warning for a thoughtless man, Could field or grove, could any spot of earth, Show to his eye an image of the pangs Which it hath witnessed ; render back an echo Of the sad steps by which it hath been trod!
Página 104 - To speak; whereat their doubled ranks they bend From wing to wing, and half enclose him round With all his peers: Attention held them mute. Thrice he assay'd, and thrice, in spite of scorn, Tears, such as Angels weep, burst forth: at last Words, interwove with sighs, found out their way.
Página 178 - My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard. Thus fares it still in our decay: And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what age takes away Than what it leaves behind.
Página 198 - What years, i' faith ? Vio. About your years, my lord. Duke. Too old, by heaven; let still the woman take An elder than herself ; so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart. For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, Than women's are.
Página 43 - Behold, the Lord's hand is not shortened, that it cannot save ; neither his ear heavy, that it cannot hear : but your iniquities have separated between you and your God, and your sins have hid his face from you, that he will not hear.

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