The book of recitations [ed.] by C.W. Smith |
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Сторінка 24
... what is left the poet here ? For Greeks a blush - for Greece a tear . 1 Homer . 2 Anacreon . 3 These were supposed to have been the Cape de Verd Islands , or the Canaries . Must we but weep o'er days more blest ? Must 24 POETIC.
... what is left the poet here ? For Greeks a blush - for Greece a tear . 1 Homer . 2 Anacreon . 3 These were supposed to have been the Cape de Verd Islands , or the Canaries . Must we but weep o'er days more blest ? Must 24 POETIC.
Сторінка 26
... tear - drop laves , To think such breasts must suckle slaves . Place me on Sunium's marbled steep , Where nothing , save the waves and I , May hear our mutual murmurs sweep ; There , swan - like , let me sing and die : A land of slaves ...
... tear - drop laves , To think such breasts must suckle slaves . Place me on Sunium's marbled steep , Where nothing , save the waves and I , May hear our mutual murmurs sweep ; There , swan - like , let me sing and die : A land of slaves ...
Сторінка 37
... tears began to flow . The mighty master smiled to see That love was in the next degree ; " Twas but a kindred sound to move , For pity melts the mind to love . Softly sweet , in Lydian measures , Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures ...
... tears began to flow . The mighty master smiled to see That love was in the next degree ; " Twas but a kindred sound to move , For pity melts the mind to love . Softly sweet , in Lydian measures , Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures ...
Сторінка 43
... tears cannot number the dead : For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave , Culloden that reeks with the blood of the brave . Lochiel . Go , preach to the coward , thou death - telling seer ! Or if gory Culloden so dreadful appear ...
... tears cannot number the dead : For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave , Culloden that reeks with the blood of the brave . Lochiel . Go , preach to the coward , thou death - telling seer ! Or if gory Culloden so dreadful appear ...
Сторінка 55
... tear stood in his bright blue eye , But still he answered , with a sigh , Excelsior ! " Beware the pine - tree's withered branch ! Beware the awful avalanche ! " This was the peasant's last good - night ! A voice replied , far up the ...
... tear stood in his bright blue eye , But still he answered , with a sigh , Excelsior ! " Beware the pine - tree's withered branch ! Beware the awful avalanche ! " This was the peasant's last good - night ! A voice replied , far up the ...
Загальні терміни та фрази
Absalom arms battle beauty beneath blood bosom bowed brave breast breath bright brother brow Cæsar clouds cold cried customed hill dark dead death deep dread dream earth Eleonora di Toledo EUGENE ARAM fair falchion father fear fell gazed Gelert gold grave hand hast hath head hear heard heart heaven hour Inchcape Rock Jaspar Julius Cæsar king knew Lars Porsena light lips live Lochiel lonely look Lord William loud Macgregor moon morn never Nevermore night numbers o'er once pale pride proud Quoth Quoth the Raven rock rose round Samian wine sate shone shore shout sigh silent slave sleep smile song soul Souliotes sound spake spirit steed stood stream strong sweet sword tears Thaïs thee thine thou thought Twas victorious bands voice wave weary weep wild wind young youth
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Сторінка 211 - Wept o'er his wounds or tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began.
Сторінка 130 - Be that word our sign of parting, bird, or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting: "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! Quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
Сторінка 275 - O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife ; and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep : Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners...
Сторінка 19 - Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.
Сторінка 282 - With a bare bodkin ? who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life ; But that the dread of something after death, — The undiscovered country, from whose bourn No traveller returns, — puzzles the will ; And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all...
Сторінка 260 - Though justice be thy plea, consider this, That, in the course of justice, none of us Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy; And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mercy.
Сторінка 63 - On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow ; And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.
Сторінка 278 - tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature Possess it merely. That it should come to this! But two months dead: nay, not so much, not two: So excellent a king; that was, to this, Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly.
Сторінка 274 - This is the state of man : To-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hopes ; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; And, — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.
Сторінка 210 - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild ; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place.