The Cornhill Magazine

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William Makepeace Thackeray
Smith, Elder, 1898
 

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Page 625 - Thou that singest wheat and woodland, tilth and vineyard, hive and horse and herd; All the charm of all the Muses often flowering in a lonely word...
Page 148 - And everybody praised the Duke Who this great fight did win.' 'But what good came of it at last?' Quoth little Peterkin: — 'Why, that I cannot tell,' said he, 'But 'twas a famous victory.
Page 652 - A cherub's face, a reptile all the rest; Beauty that shocks you, parts that none will trust, Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the dust.
Page 148 - They say it was a shocking sight After the field was won; For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun : But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory. ' Great praise the Duke of Marlbro...
Page 559 - A fiery soul, which, working out its way, Fretted the pigmy body to decay, And o'er-informed the tenement of clay. A daring pilot in extremity; Pleased with the danger, when the waves went high He sought the storms; but, for a calm unfit, Would steer too nigh the sands to boast his wit.
Page 219 - Where the great Sun begins his state Robed in flames and amber light, The clouds in thousand liveries dight; While the ploughman, near at hand, Whistles o'er the furrowed land, And the milkmaid singeth blithe, And the mower whets his scythe, And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Page 579 - King James did rushing come. Scarce could they hear, or see their foes, Until at weapon-point they close. They close in clouds of smoke and dust, With sword-sway and with lance's thrust; And such a yell was there Of sudden and portentous birth, As if men fought upon the earth And fiends in upper air; O life and death were in the shout, Recoil and rally, charge and rout, And triumph and despair.
Page 723 - In dreary hospitals of pain, The cheerless corridors, The cold and stony floors. Lo! in that house of misery A lady with a lamp I see Pass through the glimmering gloom, And flit from room to room. And slow, as in a dream of bliss, The speechless sufferer turns to kiss Her shadow, as it falls Upon the darkening walls.
Page 656 - It did ; and to prove that she did not keep them waiting, in a few minutes she came into the room in a loose white nightgown and shawl, her nightcap thrown off, and her hair falling upon her shoulders, her feet in slippers, tears in her eyes, but perfectly collected and dignified.
Page 450 - Came through the jaws of death, Back from the mouth of hell, All that was left of them— Left of Six Hundred. When can their glory fade? Oh! the wild charge they made! All the world wondered. Honour the charge they made! Honour the Light Brigade, — Noble Six Hundred!

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