Gleanings from the English poets, Chaucer to Tennyson, with biogr. notices of the authors [by R. Inglis].1862 |
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Сторінка vii
... Grave , " 208 209 210 212 213 JAMES THOMSON , 1700-1748 . Showers in Spring , 216 A Winter Landscape , 217 From " Hymn on the Seasons , ' 218 From " The Castle of Indolence , " 219 Lavinia , 219 Rule Britannia , 220 DAVID MALLETT , 1700 ...
... Grave , " 208 209 210 212 213 JAMES THOMSON , 1700-1748 . Showers in Spring , 216 A Winter Landscape , 217 From " Hymn on the Seasons , ' 218 From " The Castle of Indolence , " 219 Lavinia , 219 Rule Britannia , 220 DAVID MALLETT , 1700 ...
Сторінка x
... Grave of Anna , 330 WILLIAM SOTHEBY , 1757-1833 . Staffa , 332 ROBERT BURNS , 1759-1796 . From " The Cotters ' Saturday Night , " 333 To a Mouse , 334 Death and Dr Hornbook , 336 From " The Twa Dogs , ' 337 Epistle to a Young Friend ...
... Grave of Anna , 330 WILLIAM SOTHEBY , 1757-1833 . Staffa , 332 ROBERT BURNS , 1759-1796 . From " The Cotters ' Saturday Night , " 333 To a Mouse , 334 Death and Dr Hornbook , 336 From " The Twa Dogs , ' 337 Epistle to a Young Friend ...
Сторінка xiv
... Graves of a Household , WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT , 1794- The Indian at Burying Place , JOHN KEATS , 1795-1820 . From Hyperion , " Deep in the shady sadness , " 66 Autumn Seasons of Mists , ' 99 WILLIAM and MARY HOWITT , W. , 1795– ; M ...
... Graves of a Household , WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT , 1794- The Indian at Burying Place , JOHN KEATS , 1795-1820 . From Hyperion , " Deep in the shady sadness , " 66 Autumn Seasons of Mists , ' 99 WILLIAM and MARY HOWITT , W. , 1795– ; M ...
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... grave , and reverend signiors , My very noble and approved good masters ; That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter , It is most true ; true , I have married her ; The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent , no more ...
... grave , and reverend signiors , My very noble and approved good masters ; That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter , It is most true ; true , I have married her ; The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent , no more ...
Сторінка 65
... sun - dial in a grave . Thou , Love , taught'st me , by making me Love her who doth neglect both me and thee , To invent and practise this one way to annihilate all three . E Ben Jonson . { Born 1574 . Died 1637 . JOHN DONNE . 65.
... sun - dial in a grave . Thou , Love , taught'st me , by making me Love her who doth neglect both me and thee , To invent and practise this one way to annihilate all three . E Ben Jonson . { Born 1574 . Died 1637 . JOHN DONNE . 65.
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Загальні терміни та фрази
art thou bawbee beauty beneath blest Born Braes breast breath bright Busk clouds Cockpen cried dark dead dear death deep delight Died doth dread earth Edinburgh Review eternal eyes fair falcon crest fame father fear flowers frae friends gazed glory grace grave green happy harp hast hath hear heart heaven hill hour HYMN Kilmeny land light live Lochaber look Lord maun mind morning mountains Nature's ne'er never night nymph o'er Paradise Lost peace pleasure poems poet poetry praise pride published rest rise Robert Southey Robin Gray rose round Rule Britannia Scotland Scottish shade shine sigh silent sing skies sleep smile song sorrow soul sound spirit stars stream sweet tears tempest thee thine thou art thought trembling Twas vale voice wandering wave weary weep wild wind wings Yarrow youth
Популярні уривки
Сторінка 248 - Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay. Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade; A breath can make them, as a breath has made : But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroy'd, can never be supplied.
Сторінка 425 - There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes By the deep Sea, and music in its roar : I love not Man the less, but Nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been before, To mingle with the Universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.
Сторінка 48 - ALL the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players : They have their exits and their entrances ; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Сторінка 226 - The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
Сторінка 46 - Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice...
Сторінка 248 - 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.
Сторінка 77 - 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 in their dust.
Сторінка 49 - Love thyself last : cherish those hearts that hate thee ; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's ; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr.
Сторінка 54 - I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honouring thee As giving it a hope that there It could not withered be; But thou thereon didst only breathe And sent'st it back to me; Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself but thee!
Сторінка 229 - THE EPITAPH. Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth a Youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown : fair Science...