The spirit of the age; or, Contemporary portraits

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Стр. 134 - He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument.
Стр. 106 - Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed, Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees, In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed, But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled.
Стр. 127 - Far flashed the red artillery. But redder yet that light shall glow On Linden's hills of stained snow, And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 'Tis morn ; but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulphurous canopy.
Стр. 47 - Who but must laugh, if such a man there be? Who would not weep, if Atticus were he?
Стр. 106 - Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast...
Стр. 96 - The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself; * Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like the baseless fabric of a vision, Leave not a wreck behind.
Стр. 98 - It is the first mild day of March: Each minute sweeter than before, The red-breast sings from the tall larch That stands beside our door. There is a blessing in the air, Which seems a sense of joy to yield To the bare trees, and mountains bare, And grass in the green field.
Стр. 105 - Out went the taper as she hurried in ; Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died: She closed the door, she panted, all akin To spirits of the air, and visions wide : No uttered syllable, or, woe betide...
Стр. 126 - Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.
Стр. 109 - I WISH I was where Anna lies, For I am sick of lingering here ; And every hour, affection cries, Go and partake her humble bier. I wish I could ! for when she died, I lost my all ; and life has proved, Since that sad hour, a dreary void, A waste unlovely, and unloved.

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