Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, Količine 1–2

Sprednja platnica
W. Orr, 1844
 

Mnenja - Napišite recenzijo

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Priljubljeni odlomki

Stran 134 - The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full Of direst cruelty ! make thick my blood ; Stop up...
Stran 212 - Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve them alive; and let thy widows trust in me.
Stran 47 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags Plying her needle and thread — Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! In poverty, hunger and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, Would that its tone could reach the rich ! She sang this "Song of the Shirt.
Stran 47 - Work — work — work! My labor never flags; And what are its wages? A bed of straw, A crust of bread — and rags, That shattered roof — and this naked floor • A table — a broken chair — And a wall so blank my shadow I thank For sometimes falling there!
Stran 172 - And of the angels he saith, Who maketh his angels spirits, and his ministers a flame of fire.
Stran 194 - And the voices of the Night Wake the better soul, that slumbered, To a holy, calm delight ; Ere the evening lamps are lighted, And, like phantoms grim and tall, Shadows from the fitful fire-light Dance upon the parlor wall ; Then the forms of the departed Enter at the open door ; The beloved, the true-hearted, Come to visit me once more...
Stran 194 - And with them the Being beauteous, Who unto my youth was given, More than all things else to love me, And is now a saint in heaven. With a slow and noiseless footstep Comes that messenger divine, Takes the vacant chair beside me, Lays her gentle hand in mine. And she sits and gazes at me With those deep and tender eyes, Like the stars, so still and saint-like, Looking downward from the skies.
Stran 266 - A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones.
Stran 47 - Work ! work ! work ! till the brain begins to swim; work ! work ! work ! till the eyes are heavy and dim ! Seam, and gusset, and band ; band, and gusset, and seam ; till over the buttons I fall asleep, and sew them on in a dream. O men, with sisters dear ! O men with mothers and wives ! it is not linen you're wearing out, but human creatures
Stran 59 - For, wit lying most in the assemblage of ideas, and putting those together with quickness and variety wherein can be found any resemblance or congruity, thereby to make up pleasant pictures and agreeable visions in the fancy...

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