The Poetical Works of Thomas Hood: With Some Account of the Author. In Four Volumes, Volym 1Little, Brown, 1861 |
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Sida xxxviii
... Charles Lamb ! He was shy like myself with strangers , so , that despite my yearnings , our first meeting scarcely amounted to an introduction . We were both at dinner , amongst the hare's many friends , but our acquaintance got no far ...
... Charles Lamb ! He was shy like myself with strangers , so , that despite my yearnings , our first meeting scarcely amounted to an introduction . We were both at dinner , amongst the hare's many friends , but our acquaintance got no far ...
Sida xl
... Charles and Mary . ' What a contrast to Lamb was the full - bodied Poet , with his waving white hair , and his face round , ruddy , and unfur- rowed as a holy Friar's ! Apropos to which face he gave us a humorous description of an un ...
... Charles and Mary . ' What a contrast to Lamb was the full - bodied Poet , with his waving white hair , and his face round , ruddy , and unfur- rowed as a holy Friar's ! Apropos to which face he gave us a humorous description of an un ...
Sida xlix
... Charles Lamb , whom he resembled in many points both of cha- racter and of genius . We will conclude our very inadequate notice of this amiable writer , with a few paragraphs by a candid and genial critic in the Edinburgh Re- view ...
... Charles Lamb , whom he resembled in many points both of cha- racter and of genius . We will conclude our very inadequate notice of this amiable writer , with a few paragraphs by a candid and genial critic in the Edinburgh Re- view ...
Sida 1
With Some Account of the Author. In Four Volumes Thomas Hood Francis James Child. THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES . VOL . I. يم 1827 . ΤΟ CHARLES LAMB . MY DEAR FRIEND , I THANK.
With Some Account of the Author. In Four Volumes Thomas Hood Francis James Child. THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES . VOL . I. يم 1827 . ΤΟ CHARLES LAMB . MY DEAR FRIEND , I THANK.
Sida 3
... CHARLES LAMB . MY DEAR FRIEND , I THANK my literary fortune that I am not reduced , like many better wits , to barter dedications , for the hope or promise of patronage , with some nominally great man ; but that where true affection ...
... CHARLES LAMB . MY DEAR FRIEND , I THANK my literary fortune that I am not reduced , like many better wits , to barter dedications , for the hope or promise of patronage , with some nominally great man ; but that where true affection ...
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The Poetical Works of Thomas Hood: With Some Account of the Author ... Thomas Hood Obegränsad förhandsgranskning - 1871 |
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beneath bird blood blood atones bloom bough breath bright brow Charles Lamb cheeks cloud cold cowslip dark dead dear death deep dream Dundee earth Eugene Aram eyes face fair fairy fairy ring fear flowers gaze gentle gloom green grief gusset hair hand hath heart heaven HERO AND LEANDER hollow Hood horrid human hung leaves light lips living lofty Elms abound looks Love's Lycus marble melancholy morn mystery the spirit never night o'er pale pity place is Haunted plain as whisper raining music rose Rotterdam round seem'd sense of mystery senseless thing shade shadows shady shine sighs sing skies sleep smiles solemn sound song sorrow soul spirit daunted sudden fear sweet sweet escapement tears tender tender song thee thing THOMAS HOOD thou thought trees tremble turn'd vext voice warm wave weep wherein Whilst wild wind wings Workhouse
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Sida 190 - Who was her father? Who was her mother ? Had she a sister? Had she a brother ? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other ? Alas ! for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun ! Oh, it was pitiful ! Near a whole city full. Home she had none.
Sida 188 - One more Unfortunate Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death ! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care ; Fashion'd so slenderly, Young, and so fair!
Sida 280 - 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.
Sida 149 - 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!
Sida 150 - 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.
Sida 276 - Deeply ripened ; — such a blush In the midst of brown was born, Like red poppies grown with corn. Round her eyes her tresses fell, Which were blackest none could tell, But long lashes veiled a light, That had else been all too bright.
Sida 192 - Dreadfully staring Through muddy impurity, As when with the daring Last look of despairing Fixed on futurity. Perishing gloomily, Spurred by contumely, Cold inhumanity, ; Burning insanity, Into her rest, — Cross her hands humbly, As if praying dumbly, Over her breast ! Owning her weakness, Her evil behaviour, And leaving, with meekness, Her sins to her Saviour ! The vigour of this poem is no less remarkable than its pathos.
Sida 315 - Be lapp'd in alien clay and laid below ; It is not death to know this, — but to know That pious thoughts, which visit at new graves In tender pilgrimage, will cease to go So duly and so oft, — and when grass waves Over the past-away, there may be then No resurrection in the minds of men.
Sida 147 - My head was like an ardent coal, My heart as solid ice; My wretched, wretched soul, I knew, Was at the Devil's price: A dozen times I groaned: the dead Had never groaned but twice.
Sida 218 - Strong the earthy odour grows — I smell the mould above the rose ! Welcome Life ! the Spirit strives ! Strength returns and hope revives ; Cloudy fears and shapes forlorn Fly like shadows at the morn, — O'er the earth there comes a bloom ; Sunny light for sullen gloom, Warm perfume for vapour cold — I smell the rose above the mould ! April, 1845.