Songs of Three CenturiesJohn Greenleaf Whittier J.R. Osgood, 1875 - 352 страница |
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Страница 9
... breath- ing high , ing space , The trembling groves , the crystal run- ning by ; And that which all fair works doth most aggrace , The art , which all that wrought , ap- peared in no place . One would have thought ( so cunningly the ...
... breath- ing high , ing space , The trembling groves , the crystal run- ning by ; And that which all fair works doth most aggrace , The art , which all that wrought , ap- peared in no place . One would have thought ( so cunningly the ...
Страница 13
... breath ; 13 Who envies none that chance doth raise , Or vice ; who never understood How deepest wounds are given by praise ; Nor rules of state , but rules of good ; Who hath his life from rumors freed , Whose conscience is his strong ...
... breath ; 13 Who envies none that chance doth raise , Or vice ; who never understood How deepest wounds are given by praise ; Nor rules of state , but rules of good ; Who hath his life from rumors freed , Whose conscience is his strong ...
Страница 14
... be- falls , You in the region of yourself remain : Where no vain breath of the impudent molests That hath secured within the brazen walls stain ) Rises in peace , in innocency rests ; 14 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES . Samuel Daniel.
... be- falls , You in the region of yourself remain : Where no vain breath of the impudent molests That hath secured within the brazen walls stain ) Rises in peace , in innocency rests ; 14 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES . Samuel Daniel.
Страница 16
... breath be rude . Freeze , freeze , thou bitter sky , That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot : Though thou the waters warp , Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remembered not . A SEA DIRGE . FULL fathom five thy father lies : Of ...
... breath be rude . Freeze , freeze , thou bitter sky , That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot : Though thou the waters warp , Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remembered not . A SEA DIRGE . FULL fathom five thy father lies : Of ...
Страница 27
... breath and being ; he is the Creator Both of the water , Earth , air , and fire . subsist Of all things that He hath the list , — Of all the heavenly host , or what earth claims , He keeps the scroll , and calls them by their names ...
... breath and being ; he is the Creator Both of the water , Earth , air , and fire . subsist Of all things that He hath the list , — Of all the heavenly host , or what earth claims , He keeps the scroll , and calls them by their names ...
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angels beauty BEGONE DULL CARE bells beneath bird blessed bliss bonnie Braes breast breath bright busk calm Christabel clouds dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth EDMUND SPENSER Edom eternal eyes face fair fear flowers frae Glenlogie glory golden grace grave green Grongar Hill hand hast hath hear heard heart heaven hill holy hour Hymn Inchcape Rock JOHN BYROM Kilmeny kiss lady land lassie light live Lochaber lonely look Lord maun mind morning mourn ne'er never night o'er praise rest rose round Saint Agnes SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE scorn shade shine shore sigh sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars sweet tears tell thee thine thou art thought tree unto vale voice wandering waves weary weel ween weep wild WILLIAM SHENSTONE wind wings Yarrow
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Страница 125 - But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail ; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
Страница 66 - Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side; But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all: And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Страница 209 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Страница 30 - GOING TO THE WARS Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
Страница 125 - For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
Страница 160 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags Plying her needle and thread — Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! In poverty, hunger and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, Would that its tone could reach the rich ! She sang this "Song of the Shirt.
Страница 223 - Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea,
Страница 37 - The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
Страница 97 - No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng, The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep, And all the earth is gay...
Страница 223 - Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn!