Harper's Cyclopædia of British and American PoetryEpes Sargent Harper & Brothers, 1881 - 958 стор. |
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Сторінка 10
... rest be thine ! Then I thy sovereign praises loud will sing , That all the woods shall answer , and their echo ring . Hark ! How the minstrels ' gin to shrill aloud Their merry music that resounds from far , The pipe , the tabor , and ...
... rest be thine ! Then I thy sovereign praises loud will sing , That all the woods shall answer , and their echo ring . Hark ! How the minstrels ' gin to shrill aloud Their merry music that resounds from far , The pipe , the tabor , and ...
Сторінка 21
... rest : A heart prepared that fears no ill to come . And that man's greatness rests but in his show , The best of all whose days consumed are Either in war or peace - conceiving war . This concord , madam , of a well - tuned mind Hath ...
... rest : A heart prepared that fears no ill to come . And that man's greatness rests but in his show , The best of all whose days consumed are Either in war or peace - conceiving war . This concord , madam , of a well - tuned mind Hath ...
Сторінка 26
... rest complain of cares to come . The flowers do fade , and wanton fields To wayward winter reckoning yields ; A honey tongue , a heart of gall , Is fancy's spring , but sorrow's fall . Thy gowns , thy shoes , thy beds of roses , Thy cap ...
... rest complain of cares to come . The flowers do fade , and wanton fields To wayward winter reckoning yields ; A honey tongue , a heart of gall , Is fancy's spring , but sorrow's fall . Thy gowns , thy shoes , thy beds of roses , Thy cap ...
Сторінка 42
... rest and sleep , which but thy picture be , Much pleasure ; then from thee much more must flow . And soonest our best men with thee do go , Rest of their bones , and soul's delivery ! Thou'rt slave to fate , chance , kings , and ...
... rest and sleep , which but thy picture be , Much pleasure ; then from thee much more must flow . And soonest our best men with thee do go , Rest of their bones , and soul's delivery ! Thou'rt slave to fate , chance , kings , and ...
Сторінка 45
... rests till she attain to it ? * * # * At first her mother earth she holdeth dear , And doth embrace the world and ... rest , she cannot fix her thought , She cannot in this world contented be . For who did ever yet in honor , wealth ...
... rests till she attain to it ? * * # * At first her mother earth she holdeth dear , And doth embrace the world and ... rest , she cannot fix her thought , She cannot in this world contented be . For who did ever yet in honor , wealth ...
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Harper's Cyclopaedia of British and American Poetry (Classic Reprint) Epes Sargent Попередній перегляд недоступний - 2018 |
Загальні терміни та фрази
beauty Ben Jonson beneath Binnorie birds blessed bonny born breast breath bright brow busk Charles Lamb charms Chevy Chase clouds dark dead dear death deep delight divine doth dream earth eternal eyes fair fame father fear flowers frae glory grace green grief Grongar Hill hame hand happy hast hath Hazelgreen hear heart heaven heir of Linne hope hour immortal king kiss land lassie leave light live look Lord Lycidas mind morning mortal native Nature's ne'er never night numbers Nut-brown Maide o'er pain pleasure poem poet praise Robin Hood rose round Scotland shade shine sigh sing Sir Patrick Spens sleep smile song sonnets sorrow soul sound spirit stars Stutly sweet tears tell thee thine things thou art thought Twas verse voice waves weep wild wind wings wrote Yarrow young youth
Популярні уривки
Сторінка 99 - WHEN I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he returning chide, ' Doth God exact day-labor, light denied ?
Сторінка 413 - NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning.
Сторінка 664 - art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore: Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!
Сторінка 664 - Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door — Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as
Сторінка 183 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Сторінка 290 - Nor Man nor Boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy ! Hence in a season of calm weather Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
Сторінка 310 - And now the storm-blast came, and he Was tyrannous and strong: He struck with his o'ertaking wings, And chased us south along. With sloping masts and dipping prow, As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe, And forward bends his head, The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And southward aye we fled.
Сторінка 414 - Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
Сторінка 653 - And burst the cannon's roar; — The meteor of the ocean air Shall sweep the clouds no more. Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, Where knelt the vanquished foe, When winds were hurrying o'er the flood, And waves were white below, No more shall feel the victor's tread, Or know the conquered knee; — The harpies of the shore shall pluck The eagle of the sea!
Сторінка 663 - Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow— sorrow for the lost Lenore, For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore: Nameless here for evermore.