Dynevor Terrace, Or, The Clue of Life, Ausgabe 82

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Bernhard Tauchnitz, 1857 - 1050 Seiten
 

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Seite 205 - Every gate is throng'd with suitors, all the markets overflow. I have but an angry fancy : what is that which I should do? I had been content to perish, falling on the foeman's ground, When the ranks are...
Seite 195 - His bushy beard and shoestrings green, His high-crowned hat and satin doublet, Moved the stout heart of England's queen, Though Pope and Spaniard could not trouble it.
Seite 56 - I've got it yet, And can produce it." — " Pray, sir, do; I'll lay my life the thing is blue." — "And I'll be sworn that when you've seen The reptile you'll pronounce him green.
Seite 345 - Sweet is the smile of home ; the mutual look When hearts are of each other sure ; Sweet all the joys that crowd the household nook, The haunt of all affections pure...
Seite 184 - And my Hiawatha answered Only this: "Dear old Nokomis, Very pleasant is the firelight, But I like the starlight better, Better do I like the moonlight!
Seite 293 - WILL you hear a Spanish lady. How shee wooed an English man ? Garments gay as rich as may be Decked with jewels she had on. Of a comely countenance and grace was she, And by birth and parentage of high degree.
Seite 329 - Let us be patient! These severe afflictions Not from the ground arise, But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise. We see but dimly through the mists and vapours ; Amid these earthly damps What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers May be heaven's distant lamps.
Seite 143 - Saunders' wedding. Saunders did not love Oakworthy, still less Mrs. Lyddell, and least of all Mrs. Price, the ladies' maid; and when she found herself at Fern Torr again, and heard Mr. David Chappel renew his tender speeches, the return thither became more and more difficult; and one day, while plaiting her young lady's hair, she communicated to her with a great gush of tears, that, though she could not bear to think of leaving her, and would not on any account cause her any inconvenience...
Seite 285 - The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward winter reckoning yields; A honey tongue, a heart of gall Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

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