The Gentleman's Magazine, Band 280

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F. Jefferies, 1896
 

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Seite 249 - KNOW ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime? Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime...
Seite 107 - Alas ! alas ! Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once; And He that might the vantage best have took, Found out the remedy: How would you be, If he, which is the top of judgment, should But judge you as you are? O, think on that; And mercy then will breathe within your lips, Like man new made.
Seite 255 - ... 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.
Seite 608 - Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old time is still a-flying, And this same flower that smiles to-day, Tomorrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting.
Seite 26 - Let the Turks now carry away their abuses in the only possible manner, namely by carrying off themselves. Their Zaptiehs and their Mudirs, their Bimbashis and their Yuzbachis, their Kaimakams and their Pashas, one and all, bag and baggage, shall, I hope, clear out from the province they have desolated and profaned.
Seite 394 - The letter, as I live, with all the business I writ to his holiness. Nay then, farewell ! I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness : And, from that full meridian of my glory, I haste now to my setting. I shall fall Like a bright exhalation in the evening, And no man see me more.
Seite 261 - It was sold then for it's wayte in silver. I have heard some of our old yeomen neighbours say that when they went to Malmesbury or Chippenham market, they culled out their biggest shillings to lay in the scales against the tobacco.
Seite 612 - When the house doth sigh and weep, And the world is drown'd in sleep, Yet mine eyes the watch do keep, Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When the artless doctor sees No one hope, but of his fees, And his skill runs on the lees, Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
Seite 171 - Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn ; So thick a drop serene hath quencht their Orbs, Or dim suffusion veild. Yet not the more Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt...
Seite 216 - She is coming, my own, my sweet; Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat, Were it earth in an earthy bed; My dust would hear her and beat, Had I lain for a century dead; Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red.

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