The Bijou; or, Annual of literature and the artsWilliam Pickering, 1828 |
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Results 1-5 of 12
Page 39
... Begue was the French knight who stabbed Pedro . ] SCENE I. SCENE - The Camp of Henry . ALAIN DE LA HOUSSAYE AND LE BEGUE . HOUSSAYE . I do remember even on such a sky King Pedro's banner flaunted , even so calm And heavy hung yon ...
... Begue was the French knight who stabbed Pedro . ] SCENE I. SCENE - The Camp of Henry . ALAIN DE LA HOUSSAYE AND LE BEGUE . HOUSSAYE . I do remember even on such a sky King Pedro's banner flaunted , even so calm And heavy hung yon ...
Page 40
... BEGUE . Not I , the fleurdelys will be i ' the van . HOUSSAYE . My thoughts shall be upon the Lady Blanche . LE BEGUE . Aye , well they may- That bloody Jewess - is it known if she Be still with Pedro ? Follows she the camp ? HOUSSAYE ...
... BEGUE . Not I , the fleurdelys will be i ' the van . HOUSSAYE . My thoughts shall be upon the Lady Blanche . LE BEGUE . Aye , well they may- That bloody Jewess - is it known if she Be still with Pedro ? Follows she the camp ? HOUSSAYE ...
Page 41
... BEGUE . He passes on - he takes no note of us . HOUSSAYE . We greet you well , Lord Onis ! ONIS . Ha ! fair Sirs ! I crave your pardon . Whither be ye bound ? HOUSSAYE . Du Guesclin's trumpet hath not sounded yet ? ONIS . They are ...
... BEGUE . He passes on - he takes no note of us . HOUSSAYE . We greet you well , Lord Onis ! ONIS . Ha ! fair Sirs ! I crave your pardon . Whither be ye bound ? HOUSSAYE . Du Guesclin's trumpet hath not sounded yet ? ONIS . They are ...
Page 42
... BEGUE . You look for stubborn work , my Lord of Onis . ONIS . Sir Alain Houssaye has seen Pedro's plume Rising and falling like a falcon's wing , As far i ' the front as e'er Plantagenet Shewed his black crest . LE BEGUE . And yet the ...
... BEGUE . You look for stubborn work , my Lord of Onis . ONIS . Sir Alain Houssaye has seen Pedro's plume Rising and falling like a falcon's wing , As far i ' the front as e'er Plantagenet Shewed his black crest . LE BEGUE . And yet the ...
Page 43
... BEGUE . Let us to the tent . [ Exeunt Houssaye and Le Begue . ONIS . Beautiful valley ! what a golden light Is on thy bosom . Ha ! the bells are ringing In the church towers along yon green hill side The vesper chaunt ! Alas ! what ...
... BEGUE . Let us to the tent . [ Exeunt Houssaye and Le Begue . ONIS . Beautiful valley ! what a golden light Is on thy bosom . Ha ! the bells are ringing In the church towers along yon green hill side The vesper chaunt ! Alas ! what ...
Common terms and phrases
Adam Ferguson appeared Appollonia Augustus Fox Baal baron Battle of Montiel beautiful Beauvilliers BEGUE beneath brave breath bright brow Cain Cathleen Chancery Lane cheek child cried crown 8vo dark David Wilkie dost doth dream Earl exclaimed eyes fair farewell father fear flowers Gabriella grace grave grief GUESCLIN Halloran hand happy hath hear heard heart heaven Henry Hogan honour hope HOUSSAYE husband John Gibson Lockhart King Lady Leonora Leverton light look Lord MARIA DE PADILLA Master Bertram Master Toby morning never night noble o'er old woman ONIS Painted passed Pedlar Pedro PEREZ poor Portrait Queen R.A. Engraved racter Reichenstein replied RODRIGO rose round S. T. Coleridge scarcely Sir Thomas Lawrence sleep smile SOLDIER soul Stothard sweet tell thee thine thing Thomas Thomas Stothard thou art thought turned voice vols William Pickering young youth
Popular passages
Page 24 - All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair — The bees are stirring — birds are on the wing — And Winter slumbering in the open air, Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring! And I the while, the sole unbusy thing, Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.
Page 139 - Youth! for years so many and sweet, 'Tis known that Thou and I were one, I'll think it but a fond conceit— It cannot be that Thou art gone! Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd:— And thou wert aye a masker bold!
Page 24 - The bees are stirring — birds are on the wing — And Winter, slumbering in the open air, Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring! And I, the while, the sole unbusy thing, Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing. Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow, Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow. Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may, For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!
Page 20 - Fairly began — but finish'd not; And fruitless, late remorse doth trace — Like Hebrew lore a backward pace — Her irrecoverable race. Disjointed numbers; sense unknit Huge reams of folly, shreds of wit; Compose the mingled mass of it. My scalded eyes no longer brook Upon this ink-blurr'd thing to look — Go, shut the leaves, and clasp the book.
Page 138 - twixt Now and Then! This breathing house not built with hands, This body that does me grievous wrong, O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands, How lightly then it flashed along: — Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, On winding lakes and rivers wide, That ask no aid of sail or oar, That fear no spite of wind or tide! Nought cared this body for wind or weather When Youth and I lived in't together.
Page 140 - A wild-rose roofs the ruined shed, And that and summer well agree : And lo ! where Mary leans her head, Two dear names carved upon the tree ! And Mary's tears, they are not tears of sorrow...
Page 12 - neath the curtain of translucent dew, Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, Hesperus, with the host of heaven, came ; And lo ! creation widened in man's view.
Page 138 - Tis known, that Thou and I were one, I'll think it but a fond conceit— It cannot be that Thou art gone! Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd:— And thou wert aye a masker bold! What strange disguise hast now put on, To make believe, that thou art gone?
Page 304 - Face of the curled streams, with flow'rs as many As the young spring gives, and as choice as any ; Here be all new delights, cool streams and wells ; Arbours o'ergrown with woodbines, caves and dells ; Choose where thou wilt...
Page xi - With the hare through the copses and dingles wild ! With the butterfly over the heath, fair child ? Yes : the light fall of thy bounding feet Hath not startled the wren from her mossy seat ; Yet hast thou ranged the green forest-dells, And brought back a treasure of buds and bells.