The Universal Anthology: A Collection of the Best Literature, Ancient, Mediaeval and Modern, with Biographical and Explanatory Notes

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Сторінка 224 - King! Long live our noble King! God save the King! Send him victorious, Happy and glorious, Long to reign over us! God save the King!
Сторінка 233 - My native country, thee, land of the noble free, Thy name I love: I love thy rocks and rills, Thy woods and templed hills; My heart with rapture thrills like that above.
Сторінка 232 - O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Сторінка 44 - HAVE you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay, That was built in such a logical way It ran a hundred years to a day, And then, of a sudden, it— ah, but stay, I'll tell you what happened without delay, Scaring the parson into fits, Frightening people out of their wits,— Have you ever heard of that, I say? Seventeen hundred and fifty-five.
Сторінка 117 - THE blessed damozel leaned out From the gold bar of Heaven ; Her eyes were deeper than the depth Of waters stilled at even ; She had three lilies in her hand, And the stars in her hair were seven.
Сторінка 232 - Oh, say, can you see by the dawn's early light What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming; Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming? And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
Сторінка 46 - But now his nose is thin, And it rests upon his chin Like a staff, And a crook is in his back, And a melancholy crack In his laugh.
Сторінка 38 - Of pictures, I should like to own Titians and Raphaels three or four — I love so much their style and tone — One Turner, and no more. (A landscape, foreground golden dirt, The sunshine painted with a squirt). Of books but few — some fifty score For daily use, and bound for wear; The rest upon an upper floor; Some little luxury there . Of red morocco's gilded gleam, And vellum rich as country cream.
Сторінка 122 - Into the fine cloth white like flame Weaving the golden thread, To fashion the birth-robes for them Who are just born, being dead. ' He shall fear, haply, and be dumb : Then...
Сторінка 391 - In one year they sent a million fighters forth South and North, And they built their gods a brazen pillar high As the sky, Yet reserved a thousand chariots in full force — Gold, of course. Oh heart ! oh blood that freezes, blood that burns ! Earth's returns For whole centuries of folly, noise and sin ! Shut them in, With their triumphs and their glories and the rest ! Love is best.

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