The Pocket magazine of classic and polite literature. [Continued as] The Pocket magazine, Band 4

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Seite 151 - In all her length far winding lay, With promontory, creek, and bay, And islands that, empurpled bright, Floated amid the livelier light, And mountains, that like giants stand, To sentinel enchanted land.
Seite 215 - So quickly do his baleful sighs Quench all the sweet light of her eyes. One struggle — and his pain is past — Her lover is no longer living ! One kiss the maiden gives, one last, Long kiss, which she expires in giving! "Sleep...
Seite 215 - That I can live, and let thee go, Who art my life itself? — No, no — When the stem dies, the leaf that grew Out of its heart must perish too! Then turn to me, my own love, turn, Before like thee I fade and burn; Cling to these yet cool lips, and share The last pure life that lingers there!
Seite 216 - Thus saying, from her lips she spread Unearthly breathings through the place, And shook her sparkling wreath, and shed Such lustre o'er each paly face, That like two lovely saints they...
Seite 291 - Heaven doth with us as we with torches do ; Not light them for themselves : for if our virtues Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike As if we had them not...
Seite 215 - tis sweet to me ! There — drink my tears, while yet they fall — Would that my bosom's blood were balm, And, well thou know'st, I'd shed it all, To give thy brow one minute's calm.
Seite 151 - The fragments of an earlier world ; A wildering forest feathered o'er His ruined sides and summit hoar, While on the north, through middle air, Ben-an heaved high his forehead bare. xv. From the steep promontory gazed The stranger, raptured and amazed, And,
Seite 259 - ... with a sword ; besides, it is light to beare, light to throw away; and, being, as they commonly are, naked, it is to them all in all. Lastly, for a...
Seite 292 - I have heard That guilty creatures, sitting at a play, Have by the very cunning of the scene Been struck so to the soul that presently They have proclaim'd their malefactions; For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak With most miraculous organ.
Seite 161 - To bathe young buds in dews from heaven ; Awaking from his light repose, The angel whispered to the rose : ' O fondest object of my care, Still fairest found where all are fair, For the sweet shade thou 'st given to me, Ask what thou wilt, 'tis granted thee.

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