An Old Scrap-book: With AdditionsUniversity Press, 1891 - 674 страница |
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Страница xvi
... . The young May Moon , 198 . This world is all a fleeting show , 204 . Those Evening Bells , 18 . To sigh , yet feel no pain , 194 . When twilight dews , 193 . You remember Ellen , 197 INDEX OF AUTHORS . To R. W. Emerson , on.
... . The young May Moon , 198 . This world is all a fleeting show , 204 . Those Evening Bells , 18 . To sigh , yet feel no pain , 194 . When twilight dews , 193 . You remember Ellen , 197 INDEX OF AUTHORS . To R. W. Emerson , on.
Страница xviii
... Macbeth , " 466 . Shakspeare's Epitaph , 247 . Sigh no more , ladies , 269 . Song : Fear no more the heat , 551 . Song : Under the greenwood tree , 540 . Tell me , where is fancy bred , 541 . xix SHELLEY , PERCY BYSSUE . Arethusa , 422 .
... Macbeth , " 466 . Shakspeare's Epitaph , 247 . Sigh no more , ladies , 269 . Song : Fear no more the heat , 551 . Song : Under the greenwood tree , 540 . Tell me , where is fancy bred , 541 . xix SHELLEY , PERCY BYSSUE . Arethusa , 422 .
Страница xxx
... Sigh no more , ladies , sigh no more ! 269 Silent friends , fare ye well ! . . 142 Since our country , our God , O my sire ! 500 Sir Hilary charged at Agincourt 223 Sleep , sleep to - day , tormenting cares 457 Sleep sweetly in your ...
... Sigh no more , ladies , sigh no more ! 269 Silent friends , fare ye well ! . . 142 Since our country , our God , O my sire ! 500 Sir Hilary charged at Agincourt 223 Sleep , sleep to - day , tormenting cares 457 Sleep sweetly in your ...
Страница xxxiii
... not the gray hawk's flight . . 169 To - day I'll haste to quaff my wine Toll for the brave • Too long , too long a masquer , Arthur comes 104 552 607 xxxiv INDEX OF FIRST LINES . To sigh , yet I'll haste to quaff my wine, 101.
... not the gray hawk's flight . . 169 To - day I'll haste to quaff my wine Toll for the brave • Too long , too long a masquer , Arthur comes 104 552 607 xxxiv INDEX OF FIRST LINES . To sigh , yet I'll haste to quaff my wine, 101.
Страница xxxiv
... sigh We sit here in the Promised Land What ails thee , Dervise ? eat , What a pang of sweet emotion . 466 235 · 172 • 302 . 78 521 328 - dost thou suppose 450 396 What fairy - like music .. 63 What gleams from yon wood in the bright ...
... sigh We sit here in the Promised Land What ails thee , Dervise ? eat , What a pang of sweet emotion . 466 235 · 172 • 302 . 78 521 328 - dost thou suppose 450 396 What fairy - like music .. 63 What gleams from yon wood in the bright ...
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ALNWICK CASTLE Anne Hathaway ANONYMOUS bark beauty beneath bird Blackwood's Magazine blessed blue bonnie bower boys brave breast breath breeze bright Brignall brow Copied County Guy Cumnor dark dead dear death deep dream DRYBURGH ABBEY earth fair father fear flowers friends gleams glory gondolier gone grave green hast hath hear heart heaven Henry of Navarre hill hope HORATIUS COCLES hour isle land light lips lonely look Lord Mac Garadh MERRY ENGLAND MINSTREL BOY moon MOORE morning mountain ne'er never night numbers o'er ocean Osawatomie PIBROCH PILGRIM FATHERS prayer roam rose round sail Says the Shan shadow Shan Van Vocht shining shore sigh sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit stars storm Sung sweet sword tears thee There's thine thou art VISIGOTH voice wandering waves weep wild WILLIAM MOTHERWELL wind wings woods
Популарни одломци
Страница 552 - Lightly they'll talk of the Spirit that's gone And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done When the clock struck the hour for retiring: And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone — But we left him alone with his glory.
Страница 348 - So nigh is grandeur to our dust, So near is God to man, When Duty whispers low, Thou must, The youth replies, I can.
Страница 373 - 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. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like...
Страница 615 - It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes: 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown: His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above this sceptred sway; It is enthroned in the hearts of kings. It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice.
Страница 543 - As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I ; And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a
Страница 552 - NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried.
Страница 19 - FROM Greenland's icy mountains, From India's coral strand; Where Afric's sunny fountains Roll down their golden sand; From many an ancient river, From many a palmy plain, They call us to deliver Their land from error's chain.
Страница 516 - Ay, tear her tattered ensign down ! Long has it waved on high, And many an eye has danced to see That banner in the sky; Beneath it rung the battle shout, And burst the cannon's roar; — The meteor of the ocean air Shall sweep the clouds no more. Her deck, once red with heroes...
Страница 539 - THE harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er, And hearts that once beat high for praise Now feel that pulse no more.
Страница 414 - KNOW ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime? Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime...