Moxon's Standard readings and recitations, ed. by T. Hood |
З цієї книги
Результати 1-5 із 16
Сторінка 4
... Looz and past Tongres , no cloud in the sky ; The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh , ' Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff ; Till over by Dalhem a dome - spire sprang white 4 FROM GHENT TO AIX .
... Looz and past Tongres , no cloud in the sky ; The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh , ' Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff ; Till over by Dalhem a dome - spire sprang white 4 FROM GHENT TO AIX .
Сторінка 6
... laughed and sang , any noise , bad or good , Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood . And all I remember is , friends flocking round As I sat with his head ' twixt my knees on the ground ; And no voice but was praising this ...
... laughed and sang , any noise , bad or good , Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood . And all I remember is , friends flocking round As I sat with his head ' twixt my knees on the ground ; And no voice but was praising this ...
Сторінка 134
... laughing blush'd , till he Laugh'd also , but as one before he wakes , Who feels a glimmering strangeness in his dream . Then looking at her ; " Too happy , fresh and fair , Too fresh and fair in our sad world's best bloom , To be the ...
... laughing blush'd , till he Laugh'd also , but as one before he wakes , Who feels a glimmering strangeness in his dream . Then looking at her ; " Too happy , fresh and fair , Too fresh and fair in our sad world's best bloom , To be the ...
Сторінка 23
... talented man . He sneers , how my Alice would scold him ! - At the bliss of a sigh or a tear ; He laughed - only think ! -when I told him How we cried o'er Trevelyan last year ; I vow I was quite in a passion ; I THE TALENTED MAN . 23.
... talented man . He sneers , how my Alice would scold him ! - At the bliss of a sigh or a tear ; He laughed - only think ! -when I told him How we cried o'er Trevelyan last year ; I vow I was quite in a passion ; I THE TALENTED MAN . 23.
Сторінка 69
... laughing below . VI . I am the daughter of earth and water , And the nursling of the sky : I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores I change , but I cannot die . For after the rain , when with never a stain , The pavilion of ...
... laughing below . VI . I am the daughter of earth and water , And the nursling of the sky : I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores I change , but I cannot die . For after the rain , when with never a stain , The pavilion of ...
Загальні терміни та фрази
Abendali ALFRED TENNYSON Allen-a-Dale beneath bless Bo-bo breath bright brothers brow burnt caliph CHARLES LAMB child cloud cried dead dear death delight door Dora dream earth eyes fair father fear galloped gone hand hath head hear heard heart heaven honour horse Inchcape Inchcape Rock Katie knew Lady Clare laughing light lips Little Agib Lochinvar look look'd Lord LORD BYRON loud lullaby Ma'am maid Mary Miss Norman morning mother Netherby never night o'er old familiar faces old woman once Penny Readings Pixies Pompey poor ROBERT SOUTHEY rock rose round Sally Brown sing Sir Walter smile song spirit stand stood sweet thee There's thing THOMAS HOOD thou thought told took Twas Venice Vere de Vere Vincent Ball voice William dear WILLIAM WORDSWORTH wind wonder young
Популярні уривки
Сторінка 73 - And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail : And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
Сторінка 166 - I STOOD in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs ; A palace and a prison on each hand : I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand...
Сторінка 32 - mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran : There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ? xiii.
Сторінка 123 - I wind about, and in and out, With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty trout, And here and there a grayling, And here and there a foamy flake Upon me as I travel, With many a silvery waterbreak Above the golden gravel...
Сторінка 176 - A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet ; A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food ; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
Сторінка 95 - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain ? What fields, or waves, or mountains ? What shapes of sky or plain ? What love of thine own kind ? what ignorance of pain ? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be : Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee : Thou lovest ; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.
Сторінка 38 - Who was her father? Who was her mother? Had she a sister? Had she a brother? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other? Alas for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun! O, it was pitiful! Near a whole city full, Home she had none.
Сторінка 93 - Like a rose embowered In its own green leaves, By warm winds deflowered, Till the scent it gives Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves. Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Rain-awakened flowers All that ever was Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass.
Сторінка 65 - The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder. I sift the snow on the mountains below, And their great pines groan aghast; And all the night 'tis my pillow white, While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Сторінка 67 - I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; Fast-fading violets cover'd up in leaves; And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine. The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.