The Eton Bureau, Випуски 1 – 6Ingalton and Son, 1842 |
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Результати 1-5 із 49
Сторінка 6
... hope soon to have mastered the Old English , our present obstacle , as we anticipate some- thing exceedingly interesting , from the cursory view we have already had of its contents . — Ed . ] By steam and stokers borne a - head , By ...
... hope soon to have mastered the Old English , our present obstacle , as we anticipate some- thing exceedingly interesting , from the cursory view we have already had of its contents . — Ed . ] By steam and stokers borne a - head , By ...
Сторінка 16
... Hope ! that , clad in shade serene , Appear'st as one that shall be , and hath been ! Ye nurseries of many a holy name , That shines , character'd in the scroll of Fame ; Thou demi - Paradise of innocent youth— Of artless Friendship ...
... Hope ! that , clad in shade serene , Appear'st as one that shall be , and hath been ! Ye nurseries of many a holy name , That shines , character'd in the scroll of Fame ; Thou demi - Paradise of innocent youth— Of artless Friendship ...
Сторінка 17
... Hope , and guiltless Joy ! Farewell ! a word of care and fear ! Of sever'd ties ! a written tear ! Farewell ! a sad , and bitter token Of shatter'd hope , and promise broken ! Farewell ! I can no more dissemble : The spell is o'er ...
... Hope , and guiltless Joy ! Farewell ! a word of care and fear ! Of sever'd ties ! a written tear ! Farewell ! a sad , and bitter token Of shatter'd hope , and promise broken ! Farewell ! I can no more dissemble : The spell is o'er ...
Сторінка 19
... hope for the prosperity of our slight literary undertaking , on the ground of its commencing with at least one semblance of a good effect . I can bring no authority of moralists to help me . I can quote no paragraphs of Locke , Milton ...
... hope for the prosperity of our slight literary undertaking , on the ground of its commencing with at least one semblance of a good effect . I can bring no authority of moralists to help me . I can quote no paragraphs of Locke , Milton ...
Сторінка 25
... Hope softens , Mercy soothes , or Time destroys . For ever ! has no end , no mean , no birth- The harps of angels shall its mysteries tell ; A mingled cup it tenders here on earth , While agony unmixt its boon to hell . * Shame on us ...
... Hope softens , Mercy soothes , or Time destroys . For ever ! has no end , no mean , no birth- The harps of angels shall its mysteries tell ; A mingled cup it tenders here on earth , While agony unmixt its boon to hell . * Shame on us ...
Загальні терміни та фрази
Æneid Apollonius Rhodius barque beauty better breath bright Burton calm castle Catullus character charm child clouds dare dark dear death doth earth Eton Bureau Etonians evil eyes fair faith fancy fear feelings gaze gentle George Morland Georgics give grace grave Gwendolen hand happy hath heard heart heaven Herstmonceux holy honour hope King knew Ladon leave light live look Lord Byron Lord Dacre Lycophron Menedemus mind nature never night o'er once passed perhaps Phormio poet poor prayer Procles Puddletown readers round scarce scene scorn seemed shame shew shuffler sigh similes smile soft song sorrow soul spirit stream sure sweet tears tell thee things thou thought told TOMMY GREEN truth Unterwalden verse Virgil waves wind Windsor Castle words write young youth
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Сторінка 316 - When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste...
Сторінка 274 - MAN, that is born of a woman, hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down like a flower ; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay.
Сторінка 229 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things : There is no armour against fate : Death lays his icy hands on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Сторінка 267 - A THING of beauty is a joy for ever : Its loveliness increases ; it will never Pass into nothingness ; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Сторінка 187 - Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
Сторінка 143 - Of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth; Let's choose executors and talk of wills : And yet not so — for what can we bequeath Save our deposed bodies to the ground? Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's, And nothing can we call our own but death, And that small model of the barren earth...
Сторінка 265 - Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me : the brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to invent any thing that tends to laughter*, more than I invent, or is invented on me : I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men.
Сторінка 335 - THE POET'S SONG. THE rain had fallen, the Poet arose, He pass'd by the town and out of the street, A light wind blew from the gates of the sun, And waves of shadow went over the wheat, And he sat him down in a lonely place, And chanted a melody loud and sweet, That made the wild-swan pause in her cloud, And the lark drop down at his feet.
Сторінка 229 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill : But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow; Then boast no more your mighty deeds! Upon Death's purple altar now See where the victor-victim bleeds. Your heads must come To the cold tomb: Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom...
Сторінка 114 - The youth, he cried, whom I exiled Shall be restored to woo her. She's at the window many an hour His coming to discover: And he look'd up to Ellen's bower And she look'd on her lover — But ah! so pale, he knew her not, Though her smile on him was dwelling — And am I then forgot — forgot? It broke the heart of Ellen. In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs, Her...