The Cornhill Magazine

الغلاف الأمامي
George Smith, William Makepeace Thackeray
Smith, Elder., 1874
 

ما يقوله الناس - كتابة مراجعة

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الصفحة 465 - Rank weeds, that every art and care defy, Reign o'er the land and rob the blighted rye : There Thistles stretch their prickly arms afar, And to the ragged infant threaten war; There Poppies nodding, mock the hope of toil, There the blue Bugloss paints the sterile soil ; Hardy and high, above the slender sheaf, The slimy Mallow waves her silky leaf; O'er the young shoot the Charlock throws a shade, And clasping Tares cling round the sickly blade ; With mingled tints the rocky coasts abound, And a...
الصفحة 465 - Where the thin harvest waves its wither'd ears; Rank weeds, that every art and care defy, Reign o'er the land and rob the blighted rye : There thistles stretch their prickly arms afar, And to the ragged infant threaten war...
الصفحة 343 - The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike, The devil will come, and Faustus must be damned.
الصفحة 345 - Thus, like the sad presaging raven, that tolls The sick man's passport in her hollow beak, And in the shadow of the silent night Doth shake contagion from her sable wings; Vexed and tormented runs poor Barabas With fatal curses towards these Christians.
الصفحة 350 - Lest haply after he hath laid the foundation, and is not able to finish it, all that behold it begin to mock him, saying, This man began to build, and was not able to finish.
الصفحة 465 - High o'er the restless Deep, above the reach Of Gunner's hope, vast flights of Wild-ducks stretch ; Far as the eye can glance on either side, In a broad space and level line they glide : All in their wedge-like figures from the North, Day after day, flight after flight go forth.
الصفحة 164 - Say not thou, What is the cause that the former days were better than these? for thou dost not inquire wisely concerning this.
الصفحة 346 - But not of kings. The forest deer, being struck, Runs to an herb that closeth up the wounds; But, when the imperial lion's flesh is gored, He rends and tears it with his wrathful paw, And highly scorning that the lowly earth Should drink his blood, mounts up into the air.
الصفحة 342 - Why this is hell, nor am I out of it : Think'st thou that I who saw the face of God, And tasted the eternal joys of Heaven, Am not tormented with ten thousand hells, In being deprived of everlasting bliss ? O Faustus!
الصفحة 338 - And let the majesty of Heaven behold Their scourge and terror tread on emperors. Smile stars, that reigned at my nativity, And dim the brightness of your neighbour lamps! Disdain to borrow light of Cynthia! For I, the chiefest lamp of all the earth.

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