The Cornhill Magazine, Volume 62;Volume 135

William Makepeace Thackeray
Smith, Elder and Company, 1927
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Página 453 - Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, Before we too into the Dust descend ; Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie. Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and — sans End! Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare, And those that after some TO-MORROW stare, A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries, " Fools ! your Reward is neither Here nor There.
Página 454 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn. Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Página 719 - The antler'd monarch of the waste Sprung from his heathery couch in haste. But, ere his fleet career he took, The dew-drops from his flanks he shook ; Like crested leader proud and high, Toss'd his beam'd frontlet to the sky; A moment gazed adown the dale, A moment...
Página 348 - But yet the Lord that is on high, Is more of might by far, Than noise of many waters is, Or great sea-billows are.
Página 447 - The words of the wise are as goads, and as nails fastened by the masters of assemblies, which are given from one shepherd.
Página 719 - The stag at eve had drunk his fill, Where danced the moon on Monan's rill, And deep his midnight lair had made In lone Glenartney's hazel shade...
Página 32 - ... and his mind, though hopelessly obscured, appeared, when there was any symptom of consciousness, to be dwelling with rare exceptions on serious and solemn things; the accent of the voice grave, sometimes awful, but never querulous, and very seldom indicative of any angry or resentful thoughts. Now and then he imagined himself to be administering justice as sheriff; and once or twice he seemed to be ordering Tom Purdie about trees. A few times also, I am sorry to say, we could perceive that his...
Página 99 - The wood of English bows; So men who are free Love the old yew-tree And the land where the yew-tree grows. What of the cord? The cord was made in England : A rough cord, a tough cord, A cord that bowmen love; And so we will sing Of the hempen string And the land where the cord was wove.
Página 460 - Quel dì ch' io pieghi addormentato il volto Nel tuo virgineo seno. XXVIII. A SE STESSO. Or poserai per sempre, Stanco mio cor. Perì l'inganno estremo, Ch'eterno io mi credei'. Perì. Ben sento, In noi di cari inganni, Non che. la speme, il desiderio è spento.
Página 460 - Non vai cosa nessuna I moti tuoi, né di sospiri è degna La terra. Amaro e noia La vita, altro mai nulla; e fango è il mondo.

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