American Illustrated Magazine, Količina 15

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Crowell-Collier Publishing Company, 1883
 

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Stran 211 - How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year! My hasting days fly on with full career, But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th.
Stran 211 - Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow, It shall be still in strictest measure even To that same lot, however mean or high, Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven ; All is, if I have grace to use it so, As ever in my great Task-Master's eye.
Stran 214 - I had shifted in scarcity of books and conveniences to patch up amongst them, were received with written encomiums, which the Italian is not forward to bestow on men of this side the Alps...
Stran 375 - ... ;We are somewhat more than ourselves in our sleeps ; and the slumber of the body seems to be but the waking of the soul. \ It is the ligation of sense, but the liberty of reason; and our waking conceptions do not match the fancies of our sleeps.
Stran 211 - I was confirmed in this opinion that he who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things, ought himself to be a true poem ; that is, a composition and pattern of the best and honourablest things ; not presuming to sing high praises of heroic men, or famous cities, unless he have in himself the experience and the practice of all that which is praiseworthy.
Stran 24 - Sylvania, and they added Penn to it. And though I much opposed it, and went to the king to have it struck out and altered, he said it was past, and would take it upon him.
Stran 23 - ... a tract of land in America lying north of Maryland, on the east bounded with Delaware River, on the west limited as Maryland, and northward to extend as far as plantable.
Stran 259 - Every year my heart becomes more fixed in this dear paradise, and so much more so now, that all has become my dearest Albert's own creation, own work, own building, own laying out, as at Osborne, and his great taste, and the impress of his dear hand, have been stamped everywhere.
Stran 178 - Go, lovely rose, Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And...
Stran 335 - ... a custom loathsome to the eye, hateful to the nose, harmful to the brain, dangerous to the lungs, and in the black stinking fume thereof, nearest resembling the horrible Stygian smoke of the pit that is bottomless.

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