The Monthly Chronicle, Volume 3

Capa
Longman, Orme, Brown, Green, and Longmans, 1839
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Página 58 - No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell : Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it ; for I love you so That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, If thinking on me then should make you woe.
Página 347 - What then I was. The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion : the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite; a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
Página 59 - The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing, I sat, but neither heard nor saw: Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, And yon the toast of a' the town, I sigh'd and said amang them a'; — "Ye are na Mary Morison!
Página 146 - Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone, Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night...
Página 244 - My mother had a maid call'd Barbara : She was in love ; and he she lov'd prov'd mad, And did forsake her : she had a song of " willow ;" An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune, And she died singing it...
Página 59 - Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear, Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear ; Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, And soft as their parting tear — Jessy ! Altho' thou maun never be mine, Altho...
Página 364 - O ! then I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the forefinger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep : Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners...
Página 262 - Or we sometimes pass an hour Under a green Willow; That defends us from a shower, Making earth our pillow, Where we may Think and pray, Before death Stops our breath: Other joys Are but toys, And to be lamented.
Página 94 - The Book of Common Prayer, and administration of the Sacraments, and other rites and ceremonies of the Church, according to the use of the United Church of England and Ireland...
Página 144 - I cannot blame him : at my nativity The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, Of burning cressets ; and at my birth The frame and huge foundation of the earth Shak'd like a coward.

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