Belgravia, a London magazine, conducted by M.E. Braddon, Volume 30

Front Cover
1876 - 2 pages
 

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Page 496 - Let not thine heart decline to her ways, go not astray in her paths. For she hath cast down many wounded : yea, many strong men have been slain by her. Her house is the way to hell, going down to the chambers of death.
Page 271 - Whose midnight revels by a forest side Or fountain some belated peasant sees, Or dreams he sees, while overhead the moon Sits arbitress, and nearer to the earth Wheels her pale course ; they, on their mirth and dance Intent, with jocund music charm his ear; At once with joy and fear his heart rebounds.
Page 145 - A SLUMBER did my spirit seal; I had no human fears: She seemed a thing that could not feel The touch of earthly years. No motion has she now, no force ; She neither hears nor sees: Rolled round in earth's diurnal course. With rocks, and stones, and trees.
Page 437 - Par ma foi, il ya plus de quarante ans que je dis de la prose, sans que j'en susse rien; et je vous suis le plus obligé du monde de m'avoir appris cela.
Page 73 - When two shall be one, and that which is without as that which is within, and the male with the female, neither male nor female.
Page 145 - SHE walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies ; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes : Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
Page 189 - ... forward so as to form an acute horizontal angle with the extremity of the fingers. But this was not the only proof we had that they were creatures of order and subordination. We had no opportunity of seeing them actually engaged in any work of industry or art ; and so far as we could judge, they spent their happy hours in collecting various fruits in the woods, in eating, flying, bathing, and loitering about upon the summits of precipices But although evidently the highest order of animals in...
Page 216 - ... gaming, and all dissoluteness, and as it were total forgetfulness of God, (it being Sunday evening,) which this day se'nnight I was witness of, the King sitting and toying with his concubines, Portsmouth, Cleveland...
Page 324 - I hid my heart in a nest of roses, Out of the sun's way, hidden apart; In a softer bed than the soft white snow's is, Under the roses I hid my heart.
Page 324 - What bids the lids of thy sleep dispart ? Only the song of a secret bird. The green land's name that a charm encloses, It never was writ in the traveller's chart, And sweet on its trees as the fruit that grows is, It never was sold in the merchant's mart. The swallows of dreams through its dim fields dart, And sleep's are the tunes in its tree-tops heard ; No hound's note wakens the wildwood hart, Only the song of a secret bird.

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