The Annual Biography and Obituary for the Year ..., Volumen10Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, 1826 |
Dentro del libro
Resultados 1-5 de 62
Página 27
... heart ; her vivid fancy exerted itself to colour , to animate , and to diversify all the objects which surrounded her : the few but choice authors of her father's library , which she read and re - read , had leisure to make their full ...
... heart ; her vivid fancy exerted itself to colour , to animate , and to diversify all the objects which surrounded her : the few but choice authors of her father's library , which she read and re - read , had leisure to make their full ...
Página 43
... heart and the imagination . His feelings were equally quick and vivid ; his expressive countenance was the index of his mind , and of every instanta- neous impression made upon it . Children , who are the best physiognomists , were ...
... heart and the imagination . His feelings were equally quick and vivid ; his expressive countenance was the index of his mind , and of every instanta- neous impression made upon it . Children , who are the best physiognomists , were ...
Página 44
... heart over- flowed with kindness to all , the lowest that came within his sphere . There never was a human being who had less of the selfish and worldly feelings , they hardly seemed to form a part of his nature . His was truly the ...
... heart over- flowed with kindness to all , the lowest that came within his sphere . There never was a human being who had less of the selfish and worldly feelings , they hardly seemed to form a part of his nature . His was truly the ...
Página 46
... heart of a true patriot , a heart which feared because it fondly loved ? " This was the last of Mrs. Barbauld's separate publica- tions . Who indeed , that knew and loved her , could have wished her to expose again that honoured head to ...
... heart of a true patriot , a heart which feared because it fondly loved ? " This was the last of Mrs. Barbauld's separate publica- tions . Who indeed , that knew and loved her , could have wished her to expose again that honoured head to ...
Página 53
... heart . " It appears from a letter of Mrs. Barbauld's , that she early read with great delight , though in an English transla- tion , the Dialogues of Lucian . Perhaps we may remotely trace to the impression thus produced , the origin ...
... heart . " It appears from a letter of Mrs. Barbauld's , that she early read with great delight , though in an English transla- tion , the Dialogues of Lucian . Perhaps we may remotely trace to the impression thus produced , the origin ...
Otras ediciones - Ver todas
Términos y frases comunes
acquainted admiration afterwards amiable appeared appointed Barbauld became Bishop British called Captain Catholic celebrated character church classical command conversation Coombe Abbey daugh daughter death dissenting distinguished duties Earl of Carlisle eminent England English excellent expression father favour feelings France Fuseli genius Gentleman's Magazine heart honour House House of Lords interesting Ireland Kett knowledge labour Lady late learned letter literary Lord Byron Lord Carlisle Lord Cornwallis Lord Donoughmore Lord Whitworth lordship Majesty Majesty's Malta manner memoir ment mind ministers nature never noble earl object observed occasion opinion parish Parliament Parr Parr's period person poem Porden possessed present principles published racter Radstock rank Rees rendered residence respect returned Royal Samuel Parr scholar sermon Shakspeare ship society soon spirit talents taste Thomas Bowdler Tilloch tion treaty of Amiens Vide visited volume Whitworth
Pasajes populares
Página 262 - The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die.
Página 96 - And still upon that face I look, And think 'twill smile again; And still the thought I will not brook, That I must look in vain. But when I speak — thou dost not say What thou ne'er left'st unsaid; And now I feel, as well I may, Sweet Mary, thou art dead! If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art, All cold and all serene, I still might press thy silent heart, And where thy smiles have been.
Página 95 - It never through my mind had past The time would e'er be o'er, And I on thee should look my last, And thou shouldst smile no more ! And still upon that face I look, And think 'twill smile again; And still the thought I will not brook, That I must look in vain. But when I speak — thou dost not say What thou ne'er left'st...
Página 78 - Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.
Página 95 - The time would e'er be o'er, And I on thee should look my last, And thou shouldst smile no more ! And still upon that face I look, And think 'twill smile again ; And still the thought I will not brook That I must look in vain ! But when I speak — thou dost not say What thou ne'er left'st unsaid ; And now I feel, as well I may, Sweet Mary ! thou art dead...
Página 77 - Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
Página 316 - Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than mine: Yet one I would select from that proud throng, Partly because they blend me with his line, And partly that I did his sire some wrong...
Página 77 - Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
Página 77 - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast...
Página 96 - Sweet Mary, thou art dead! If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art, All cold and all serene, I still might press thy silent heart, And where thy smiles have been. While e'en thy chill, bleak corse I have, Thou seemest still mine own; But there I lay thee in thy grave, — And I am now alone! I do not think, where'er thou art, Thou hast forgotten me; And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart In thinking, too, of thee: Yet there was round thee such a dawn Of light ne'er seen before, As fancy never could...