Prose and VerseGeo. Putnam, 1849 - 401 pages |
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Page 11
... wish at present , yet all well - directed efforts are sure to meet reward in the end , and altho ' I have chumped and churned two days running , and it's nothing yet but curds and whey , I should be wrong to despair of eating but- ter ...
... wish at present , yet all well - directed efforts are sure to meet reward in the end , and altho ' I have chumped and churned two days running , and it's nothing yet but curds and whey , I should be wrong to despair of eating but- ter ...
Page 14
... wish I had been less precipitous , for the sooty wretches stole four good flitches of bacon , as was up the kitchen chimbly , quite unbeknown to me . We have filled up the vacan- cy with more , which smoke us dreadfully , but what is to ...
... wish I had been less precipitous , for the sooty wretches stole four good flitches of bacon , as was up the kitchen chimbly , quite unbeknown to me . We have filled up the vacan- cy with more , which smoke us dreadfully , but what is to ...
Page 34
... wish the night Had borne my breath away . I remember , I remember , The roses - red and white ; The violets and the lily - cups , Those flowers made of light ! The lilacs where the robin built , And where my brother set The laburnum on ...
... wish the night Had borne my breath away . I remember , I remember , The roses - red and white ; The violets and the lily - cups , Those flowers made of light ! The lilacs where the robin built , And where my brother set The laburnum on ...
Page 53
... wishes seemed already half fulfilled , and it was not till many months afterwards that I actually crossed the Channel ... wish that the ocean brine had been sweet , or sour instead of salt , so as to be potable ; for what can be more ...
... wishes seemed already half fulfilled , and it was not till many months afterwards that I actually crossed the Channel ... wish that the ocean brine had been sweet , or sour instead of salt , so as to be potable ; for what can be more ...
Page 68
... wish but for ease , nor any attention but for misery . " In short the Rambler describes the whole race of Valetudinarians as a sort of great Bitumen Company , paving a certain nameless place , as some of the Asphalticals have paved ...
... wish but for ease , nor any attention but for misery . " In short the Rambler describes the whole race of Valetudinarians as a sort of great Bitumen Company , paving a certain nameless place , as some of the Asphalticals have paved ...
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amongst autograph better boys bread burning called Charles Lamb common Cornelius Mathews course Dame dance dead deaf dear door double dream English Eugene Aram eyes face fancy fear feel fire gentleman give gold Gold Sticks Golden Leg green hand head hear heart hope horse housis human lady Lamb light limb Lincolnshire literary literature living London look Lord Lord Byron mesmerism mind Miss Kilmansegg moral nature never night once Otto of Roses party perhaps persons pigs play Poet poor precious PUGSLEY Quaker remember seems Serjeant Talfourd short sick Sir Jacob Sir Walter Scott song sort soul sound spirit There's thing THOMAS HOOD tion tree Trumpet turn Twas voice walk Whigs whilst whisper whole witch write young yure
Popular passages
Page 205 - Through muddy impurity, As when with the daring Last look of despairing Fixed on futurity. Perishing gloomily, Spurred by contumely, Cold inhumanity, Burning insanity, Into her rest. Cross her hands humbly, As if praying dumbly, Over her breast ! Owning her weakness, Her evil behavior, And leaving, with meekness, Her sins to her Saviour ! (The vigour of this poem is no less remarkable than its pathos.
Page 203 - Drips from her clothing ; Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing. — Touch her not scornfully ; Think of her mournfully, Gently and humanly; Not of the stains of her, All that remains of her Now is pure womanly. Make no deep scrutiny Into her mutiny Rash and undutiful : Past all dishonor, Death has left on her Only the beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers, One of Eve's family — Wipe those poor lips of hers Oozing so clammily. Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses...
Page 26 - All night I lay in agony, From weary chime to chime; With one besetting horrid hint That racked me all the time — A mighty yearning, like the first Fierce impulse unto crime — "One stern tyrannic thought, that made All other thoughts its slave! Stronger and stronger every pulse Did that temptation crave — Still urging me to go and see The dead man in his grave!
Page 102 - Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves and nobler cares — The poets who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays...
Page 210 - 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 !
Page 27 - As soon as the mid-day task was done, In secret I was there : And a mighty wind had swept the leaves, And still the corse was bare ! " Then down I cast me on my face, And first began to weep, For I knew my secret then was one That earth refused to keep; Or land or sea, though he should be Ten thousand fathoms deep ! " So wills the fierce avenging sprite, Till blood for blood atones ! Ay, though he 's buried in a cave, And trodden down with stones, And years have rotted off his flesh — The world...
Page 34 - I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. I REMEMBER, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn : He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day, But now I often wish the night Had borne my breath away...
Page 202 - One more Unfortunate, Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashioned so slenderly, Young, and so fair ! Look at her garments Clinging like cerements; Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing; Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing. Touch her not scornfully; Think of her mournfully, Gently and humanly; Not of the stains of her, All...
Page 25 - I took the dreary body up, And cast it in a stream — A sluggish water black as ink, The depth was so extreme. — My gentle boy, remember this Is nothing but a dream ! " Down went the corse with a hollow plunge, And...
Page 130 - O'er all there hung a shadow and a fear ; A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, The place is Haunted!