Stories from My AtticHurd and Houghton, 1869 - 269 стор. |
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apple asked babe beautiful Becky began Belfry Belfry of Bruges bells bob-cat Bruges burghers Cat-made-of-worsted Christmas Count of Flanders cried dance dark door earth eyes father flower friends Frome's Cat garden Ghent Gladiolus Grash Grash's Cat grew hand head hear heard heart John the Watchman King knew light listened Little Boy Little Girl little Jacob Little John live looked Lord Mary merry mind morning mother Mount Osceola Mozart neighbor Neonetta never night Odysseus Old Hoe once Orpheus Parson Dawes Peter Philip picture played Princess Rosella Queen roof Rosella Rose round Saco River sang seemed sing snow song soul soul-nature sound stars stood story street tell thee things thought told took town trees turned violin voice walk watched William Blake window window-seat wonderful words Zouave وو
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Сторінка 15 - I'll stand and stroke his silver hair, And be like him, and he will then love me.
Сторінка 20 - Thames waters flow. O what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town! Seated in companies they sit, with radiance all their own. The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs, Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands. Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song, Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among: Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor. Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.
Сторінка 15 - And, sitting down before the heat of day, She took me on her lap and kissed me, And, pointing to the East, began to say: 'Look on the rising sun: there God does live, And gives His light, and gives His heat away, And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday. 'And we are put on earth a little space, That we may learn to bear the beams of love; And these black bodies and this sunburnt face Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove.
Сторінка 159 - And the angel said unto them, Fear not ; for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
Сторінка 69 - Some stupid, dogged, engrossing clerk, probably," exclaimed myself, or some other giddy youth in our society. " No, boys," said our host, " I well know what hand it is — 'tis Walter Scott's.
Сторінка 14 - My mother bore me in the southern wild, And I am black, but O! my soul is white. White as an angel is the English child: But I am black as if bereav'd of light. My mother taught me underneath a tree And sitting down before the heat of day, She took me on her lap and kissed me, And pointing to the east began to say, Look on the rising sun: there God...
Сторінка 39 - IN the ancient town of Bruges, In the quaint old Flemish city, As the evening shades descended, Low and loud and sweetly blended, Low at times and loud at times, And changing like a poet's rhymes, Rang the beautiful wild chimes From the Belfry in the market Of the ancient town of Bruges.
Сторінка 13 - When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry
Сторінка 16 - I'll tell thee: He is called by thy name, For He calls Himself a Lamb. He is meek, and He is mild; He became a little child. I a child, and thou a lamb, We are called by His name. Little Lamb, God bless thee ! Little Lamb, God bless thee!
Сторінка 14 - And sitting down before the heat of day, She took me on her lap and kissed me, And, pointing to the east, began to say: "Look on the rising sun — there God does live, And gives his light, and gives his heat away; And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive Comfort in morning, joy in the noon day.