Bentley's Miscellany, Band 8

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Charles Dickens, William Harrison Ainsworth, Albert Smith
Richard Bentley, 1840
 

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Seite 529 - Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year ; For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, With hey ! the sweet birds, O how they sing ! Doth set my pugging tooth on edge ; For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. The lark, that tirra-lirra chants, With hey! with hey! the thrush and the jay: Are summer songs for me and my aunts, While we lie tumbling in the hay.
Seite 436 - Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire Mirth, and youth, and warm desire ; Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long.
Seite 72 - Ere the evening lamps are lighted, And, like phantoms grim and tall, Shadows from the fitful fire-light Dance upon the parlour wall; Then the forms of the departed Enter at the open door ; The beloved, the true-hearted, Come to visit me once more...
Seite 151 - I had so worked upon my imagination as really to believe that about the whole mansion and domain there hung an atmosphere peculiar to themselves and their immediate vicinity — an atmosphere which had no affinity with the air of heaven, but which had reeked up from the decayed trees, and the gray wall, and the silent tarn — a pestilent and mystic vapor, dull, sluggish, faintly discernible and leaden-hued.
Seite 156 - But evil things, in robes of sorrow, Assailed the monarch's high estate; (Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow Shall dawn upon him, desolate!) And, round about his home, the glory That blushed and bloomed Is but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed. And travellers, now within that valley. Through the red-litten windows see Vast forms that move fantastically To a discordant melody ; While, like a rapid ghastly river, Through the pale door A hideous throng rush out forever, And laugh — but...
Seite 159 - I know not why, except that an instinctive spirit prompted me - to certain low and indefinite sounds which came, through the pauses of the storm, at long intervals, I knew not whence.
Seite 156 - Banners yellow, glorious, golden, On its roof did float and flow (This — all this — was in the olden Time long ago) And every gentle air that dallied, In that sweet day, Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, A winged odor went away.
Seite 155 - An excited and highly distempered ideality threw a sulphureous lustre over all. His long improvised dirges will ring forever in my ears. Among other things, I hold painfully in mind a certain singular perversion and amplification of the wild air of the last waltz of Von Weber.
Seite 151 - ... fungi overspread the whole exterior, hanging in a fine tangled web-work from the eaves. Yet all this was apart from any extraordinary dilapidation. No portion of the masonry had fallen; and there appeared to be a wild inconsistency between its still perfect adaptation of parts, and the crumbling condition of the individual stones. In this there was much that reminded me of the specious totality of old wood-work which has rotted for long years in some neglected vault, with no disturbance from...
Seite 150 - It was possible, I reflected, that a mere different arrangement of the particulars of the scene, of the details of the picture, would be sufficient to modify, or perhaps to annihilate, its capacity for sorrowful impression...

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