Opinião das pessoas - Escrever uma crítica
Não foram encontradas quaisquer críticas nos locais habituais.
appearance approached arms asked attendants auld bear Black Blanche blood breast Brother brow called Castle cause child close companion cried danger dared dark daughter dinna doubt Edgar effect exclaimed face father fear feeling fell felt figure followed frae gaze guid hall hand head hear heard heart Heaven Hepburn hero hope hour knew Lady Helen leave leddy length Leslie less light lips look Lord Lord Lumley Lumley maid means mind moment mother nature never Neville night object observed once passed Priory proceeded Prophetess raised reached reflection replied Rosallin round ruin seat seemed seen side Sidney smile soon sorrow soul speak spirit step stood stranger struck tear tell thee thou thought tion took tower turned voice young youth
Página 111 - But, see, his face is black, and full of blood ; His eyeballs further out than when he lived, Staring full ghastly like a strangled man ; His hair upreared, his nostrils stretched with struggling ; His hands abroad displayed, as one that grasped And tugged for life, and was by strength subdued.
Página 253 - If music be the food of love, play on ; Give me excess of it ; that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. — That strain again ! — it had a dying fall : Oh, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south That breathes upon a bank of violets, ( Stealing and giving odour !— Enough ; no more ; ( 'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before.
Página 203 - But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought; And, with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed?
Página 73 - Ooze to her skin, and stagnate there to mud, Cased like the centipede in saffron mail, Or darker greenness of the scorpion's scale — (For drawn from reptiles only may we trace Congenial colours in that soul or face) — Look on her features!
Página 141 - Boy was sprung to manhood: in the wilds Of fiery climes he made himself a home, And his soul drank their sunbeams: he was girt With strange and dusky aspects; he was not Himself like what he had been; on the sea And on the shore he was a wanderer...
Página 68 - And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy ; They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being...
Página 275 - The Convent bells are ringing, But mournfully and slow ; In the gray square turret swinging, With a deep sound, to and fro. Heavily to the heart they go ! Hark ! the hymn is singing— The song for the dead below, Or the living who shortly shall be so ! For a departing being's soul The death-hymn peals and the hollow bells knoll...