The book of English poetry, with critical and biogr. sketches of the poets1853 |
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Страница 47
... , so warm on meaner themes , Is cold on this . She execrates indeed The tyranny that doomed them to the fire , But gives the glorious sufferers little praise . He is the freeman whom the truth makes free , COWPER . 47.
... , so warm on meaner themes , Is cold on this . She execrates indeed The tyranny that doomed them to the fire , But gives the glorious sufferers little praise . He is the freeman whom the truth makes free , COWPER . 47.
Страница 51
... praise . The mystic mazes of thy will , The shadows of celestial light , Are past the powers of human skill ; But what the Eternal acts is right . O teach me in the trying hour , When anguish swells the dewy tear , To still my sorrows ...
... praise . The mystic mazes of thy will , The shadows of celestial light , Are past the powers of human skill ; But what the Eternal acts is right . O teach me in the trying hour , When anguish swells the dewy tear , To still my sorrows ...
Страница 56
... praise . The priest - like father reads the sacred page , How Abram was the friend of GOD on high ; Or , Moses bade eternal warfare wage With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; Or how the royal bard did groaning lie Beneath the stroke of ...
... praise . The priest - like father reads the sacred page , How Abram was the friend of GOD on high ; Or , Moses bade eternal warfare wage With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; Or how the royal bard did groaning lie Beneath the stroke of ...
Страница 57
... praise , In such society , yet still more dear ; While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere . * Then homeward all take off their several way ; The youngling cottagers retire to rest ; The parent pair their secret homage pay ...
... praise , In such society , yet still more dear ; While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere . * Then homeward all take off their several way ; The youngling cottagers retire to rest ; The parent pair their secret homage pay ...
Страница 69
... praise . GRAHAME . SCOTTISH SABBATH EVENING . OH SCOTLAND ! much I love thy tranquil dales ; But most on Sabbath eve , when low the sun Slants through the upland copse ; ' tis my delight , Wandering and stopping oft , to hear the song ...
... praise . GRAHAME . SCOTTISH SABBATH EVENING . OH SCOTLAND ! much I love thy tranquil dales ; But most on Sabbath eve , when low the sun Slants through the upland copse ; ' tis my delight , Wandering and stopping oft , to hear the song ...
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The Book of English Poetry, With Critical and Biogr. Sketches of the Poets Приказ није доступан - 2020 |
The Book of English Poetry, with Critical and Biogr. Sketches of the Poets English Poetry Приказ није доступан - 2016 |
Чести термини и фразе
Allan Ramsay amid beauty Ben Jonson beneath blessed born breast breath bright burning CAROLINE BOWLES Charles II Chaucer clouds crown dark dead death deep died dost doth dread dream Earl of Surrey earth EDMUND SPENSER Elizabethan era England eternal eyes fair fame father flowers frae gaze genius gentle glorious glory glowing grace grave green happy hast hath heart heaven helmet of Navarre Henry of Navarre holy honour hour HYMN king land light live look Lord lyre mind morning mountain never night noble o'er pain PHILIP MASSINGER poems poet praise pride Queen rise round shade Shakspeare shine sing skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound Spenser spirit spring stars storm stream sweet tears tell thee thine things thou art thought vale voice waves weary weep Westminster Abbey wild wind wings wood youth
Популарни одломци
Страница 81 - Alas! they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth; And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny; and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain.
Страница 142 - MY HEART aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk...
Страница 346 - THE Lord my pasture shall prepare, And feed me with a shepherd's care ; His presence shall my wants supply, And guard me with a watchful eye ; My noonday walks He shall attend, . And all my midnight hours defend.
Страница 145 - Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness ! Close bosom-friend of the maturing Sun ! Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core...
Страница 431 - And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For heaven's sake let us sit upon the ground...
Страница 378 - The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd wind 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...
Страница 260 - Abide with me from morn till eve, For without Thee I cannot live ; Abide with me when night is nigh, For without Thee I dare not die.
Страница 136 - 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.
Страница 145 - Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers; And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook Or by a cider-press, with patient look Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too...
Страница 58 - THOU lingering star, with lessening ray That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usher'st in the day My Mary from my heart was torn. O Mary ! dear departed shade ! Where is thy place of blissful rest ? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast...