McClure's Magazine ..., Volumen5S.S. McClure, Limited, 1895 |
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Términos y frases comunes
Abraham Lincoln American answered Anthony Hope asked bank began bishop called Captain Chautauqua CLEVELAND MOFFETT Count Nikolas Crawford cried crowd dhole dollars Donahue door eyes face father feet Frémont girl give Grant hand head heard horse hour hundred Ian Maclaren Jamie John John Keats Keats king king's knew Kotuko laughed Leary Lincoln live looked madam magazine MCCLURE'S MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE ment miles Monsieur morning Mowgli never night once painting Paris passed photograph Pinkerton Posty Princess Osra Proctor robbery Robert Louis Stevenson Robert Pinkerton S. S. MCCLURE seemed sent side sire smile Stephen Stevenson stood story Street Tammany Tammany Hall tell thing Thomas Lincoln thought thousand tion told took train Trape turned Tweed word yacht York young Zenda
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Página 462 - Knowing within myself (he says) the manner in which this Poem has been produced, it is not without a feeling of regret that I make it public.— What manner I mean, will be quite clear to the reader, who must soon perceive great inexperience, immaturity, and every error denoting a feverish attempt, rather than a deed accomplished.'— Preface, p.
Página 465 - He is gone ; he died with the most perfect ease — he seemed to go to sleep. On the twenty-third, about four, the approaches of death came on. ' Severn — I — lift me up — I am dying — I shall die easy ; don't be frightened — be firm, and thank God it has come.
Página 463 - Praise or blame has but a momentary effect on the man whose love of beauty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own works. My own domestic criticism has given me pain without comparison beyond what " Blackwood" or the "Quarterly" could possibly inflict : and also when I feel I am right, no external praise can give me such a glow as my own solitary reperception and ratification of what is fine.
Página 465 - ... how astonishingly does the chance of leaving the world impress a sense of its natural beauties upon us ! Like poor Falstaff, though I do not " babble," I think of green fields ; I muse with the greatest affection on every flower I have known from my infancy — their shapes and colours are as new to me as if I had just created them with a superhuman fancy.
Página 17 - IF the red slayer think he slays, Or if the slain think he is slain, They know not well the subtle ways I keep, and pass, and turn again. Far or forgot to me is near; Shadow and sunlight are the same; The vanished gods to me appear; And one to me are shame and fame. They reckon ill who leave me out; When me they fly, I am the wings; I am the doubter and the doubt, And I the hymn the Brahmin sings.
Página 500 - May I be pardoned if, upon this occasion, I mention that away back in my childhood, the earliest days of my being able to read, I got hold of a small book, such a one as few of the younger members have ever seen, Weems
Página 500 - The crossing of the river; the contest with the Hessians; the great hardships endured at that time, all fixed themselves on my memory more than any single revolutionary event; and you all know, for you have all been boys, how these early impressions last longer than any others. I recollect thinking then, boy even though I was, that there must have been something more than common that those men struggled for.
Página 463 - ... imagination strengthens, that I do not live in this world alone, but in a thousand worlds. No sooner am I alone, than shapes of epic greatness are stationed around me, and serve my spirit the office which is equivalent to a King's body-guard : " then Tragedy with scepter'd pall comes sweeping by...
Página 464 - I throw my whole being into Troilus, and repeating those lines, ' I wander like a lost Soul upon the stygian Banks staying for waftage,' I melt into the air with a voluptuousness so delicate that I am content to be alone.
Página 528 - I know I am at a climacteric for all men who live by their wits, so I do not despair. But the truth is I am pretty nearly useless at literature, and I will ask you to spare St. Ives when it goes to you; it is a sort of Count Robert of Paris.