The life and correspondence of M.G. Lewis [by M. Baron-Wilson].

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Halaman 37 - Far from my sacred natal clime, I haste to an untimely grave ; The daring thoughts that soared sublime Are sunk in ocean's southern wave. Slave of the mine ! thy yellow light Gleams baleful as the tomb-fire drear.
Halaman 185 - Its happy being ; taste in thought again Of the stolen sweetness of those evening walks, When pansied turf was air to winged feet, And circling forests, by ethereal touch Enchanted, wore the livery of the sky...
Halaman 187 - I undone. From that hour has reason never Held her empire o'er my brain. Henry fled — with him for ever Fled the wits of Crazy Jane. Now forlorn and broken-hearted...
Halaman 231 - Never did Covent Garden present such a picture of agitation and dismay. Ladies bathed in tears — others fainting — and some shrieking with terror — while such of the audience as were able to avoid demonstration like these, sat aghast, with pale horror painted on their countenance. It is said that the very box-keepers took fright...
Halaman 20 - She immediately stooped to regain it, but as she picked it up, the red leaves scattered themselves on the carpet, and the stalk alone remained in her hand. The poor girl, who had been depressed in spirits before, was evidently affected by this incident, and said in a slightly faltering voice, ' I trust I am not to consider this as an evil omen ! ' But soon rallying, she expressed to Mrs.
Halaman 38 - Her eyes are dim with many a tear. That once were guiding stars to mine: Her fond heart throbs with many a fear! I cannot bear to see thee shine. For thee, for thee, vile yellow slave, I left a heart that loved me true ! I crossed the tedious ocean-wave.
Halaman 314 - I will bear my sorrows like a man, But I must also feel them as a man. I cannot but remember such things were, And were most dear to me.
Halaman 38 - Ha ! com'st thou now so late to mock A wanderer's banished heart forlorn, Now that his frame the lightning shock Of sun-rays tipt with death has borne ? From love, from friendship, country, torn, To memory's fond regrets the prey, Vile slave, thy yellow dross I scorn ! — Go, mix thee with thy kindred clay...
Halaman 186 - Trust me, sweet, thy fears are vain ; Not for kingdoms would I harm thee ; Shun not, then, poor Crazy Jane. Dost thou weep to see my anguish ? Mark me, and avoid my woe : When men flatter, sigh, and languish, Think them false — I found them so.
Halaman 276 - ... remember the London tone of 1825 on this subject. It was the echo of twenty years before, when Matt Lewis took his mother to task for writing a novel, enjoining on her " whatever might be its merits, even if she had already made a bargain with the publisher, to break it ; for he held that a woman had no business to be a public character, and that in proportion as she acquires notoriety she loses delicacy ; " he " always considering a female author as a sort of half,man.

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