amongst ATHENÆUM autograph better BLACK DRIVER boys bread burning called cheap common Cornelius Mathews course Dame deaf dear door doubt dream English evvery eyes face fancy fear feel fire Flanders horses gentleman give gold golden hand head hear heart Honnerd honor hope horses House of Lords housis human interest lady light Lincolnshire literary literature live London look Lord Lord Byron Master Humphrey's Clock mesmerism mind Miss Kilmansegg moral nature never night once party perhaps persons pigs pirate poets poor prospex published reader remember ROGER DAVIS Serjeant Talfourd short Sir Jacob Sir Walter Scott sort soul sound spirit There's thing THOMAS HOOD tion tree Trumpet turn voice walk Whigs whilst whisper witch write yure
第 34 頁 - I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing ; My spirit flew in feathers then That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow. I remember, I remember The fir-trees dark and high ; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky. It was a childish ignorance, — But now 'tis little joy: To know I'm farther off from heaven Than when I was a boy ! THOMAS HOOD.
第 26 頁 - Then down I cast me on my face, And first began to weep, For I knew my secret then was one That earth refused to keep : Or land or sea, though he should be Ten thousand fathoms deep.
第 26 頁 - All night I lay in agony, From weary chime to chime; With one besetting horrid hint That racked me all the time — A mighty yearning, like the first Fierce impulse unto crime — "One stern tyrannic thought, that made All other thoughts its slave! Stronger and stronger every pulse Did that temptation crave — Still urging me to go and see The dead man in his grave!
第 23 頁 - And, long since then, of bloody men Whose deeds tradition saves; Of lonely folk cut off unseen, And hid in sudden graves ; Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn, And murders done in caves ; And how the sprites of injured men Shriek upward from the sod...
第 210 頁 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread — Stitch — stitch — stitch ! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, — Would that its tone could reach the Rich ! She sang this " Song of the Shirt !
第 209 頁 - The wounds I might have healed ! The human sorrow and smart ! And yet it never was in my soul To play so ill a part : But evil is wrought by want of Thought, As well as want of Heart...
第 134 頁 - For over all there hung a cloud of fear, A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, The place is Haunted ! PART III.