Poems of Places Oceana 1 V.; England 4; Scotland 3 V: Iceland, Switzerland, Greece, Russia, Asia, 3 America 5, Том 6 |
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... lone sublimity , Towering above the sea and little ships ; For dwarfs the tallest seem while sailing by , Each for her haven ; with her freight of care , Pleasure , or grief , and toil that seldom looks Into the secret of to - morrow's ...
... lone sublimity , Towering above the sea and little ships ; For dwarfs the tallest seem while sailing by , Each for her haven ; with her freight of care , Pleasure , or grief , and toil that seldom looks Into the secret of to - morrow's ...
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... lone despair , While one by one into the infinite deep Sank kindred , realm , throne , world : yet I lay there . There still I lie . Where are my glories fled ? My wisdom that I boasted as divine ? My grand primeval women fair , who ...
... lone despair , While one by one into the infinite deep Sank kindred , realm , throne , world : yet I lay there . There still I lie . Where are my glories fled ? My wisdom that I boasted as divine ? My grand primeval women fair , who ...
Страница 46
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. FAR Arranteenie . THE LASS O ' ARRANTEENIE . WAR lone amang the Highland hills , Midst Nature's wildest grandeur , By rocky dens and woody glens With weary steps I wander . The langsome way , the darksome day ...
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. FAR Arranteenie . THE LASS O ' ARRANTEENIE . WAR lone amang the Highland hills , Midst Nature's wildest grandeur , By rocky dens and woody glens With weary steps I wander . The langsome way , the darksome day ...
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... I rambled out free , Resolved that same evening , as Luna was full , To lodge , ten miles distant , in old Auchtertool . Through many a lone cottage and farm - house I 50 POEMS OF PLACES . AUCHTERTOOL AUCHTERTOOL AUCHTERTOOL AUCHTERTOOL.
... I rambled out free , Resolved that same evening , as Luna was full , To lodge , ten miles distant , in old Auchtertool . Through many a lone cottage and farm - house I 50 POEMS OF PLACES . AUCHTERTOOL AUCHTERTOOL AUCHTERTOOL AUCHTERTOOL.
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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Through many a lone cottage and farm - house I steered , Took their money , and off with my budget I sheered ; The road I explored out , without form or rule , Still asking the nearest to old Auchtertool . At ...
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Through many a lone cottage and farm - house I steered , Took their money , and off with my budget I sheered ; The road I explored out , without form or rule , Still asking the nearest to old Auchtertool . At ...
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Poems of Places Oceana 1 V. ; England 4; Scotland 3 V: Iceland ..., Том 9 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Приказ није доступан - 2016 |
Чести термини и фразе
Airly Beacon amang Auchtertool auld Ballochmyle banks of Ayr Ben Lomond beneath Bennachie birds birks birks of Aberfeldy Blaavin blithe bloom blue bonnie Doon bonnie lass bonny wood bosom bower braes Branksome Hall brave breast BRIG bright Carmyle Castle Charlie clouds Clyde Coquet Water corri Craig Elachie Craigcrook Craigcrook Roses Craigie Lea Cutty-sark dark David Macbeth Moir dear deep Doon dream fair Farewell flowers frae Gadie rins gleaming glen gray green ha'e heart heaven Highland land lassie Lochiel Lomond lone loud Mary mony morn mountain mourn mournfully ne'er night o'er pale proud River roar Robert Burns Robert Tannahill rock round sang scene shade shore sing Sir Walter Scott smile Stand fast stood stray stream summer sweet sword thee thine Thou bonny torrents towers tree vale wander wave weary Whare wild William Wordsworth wind wood of Craigie
Популарни одломци
Страница 187 - She should have died hereafter; There would have been a time for such a word. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death.
Страница 45 - O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasp'd her to my bosom ! The golden hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my dearie; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace Our parting was fu' tender; And pledging aft to meet again, We tore oursels asunder; But, Oh!
Страница 46 - Mary ! dear departed shade ! Where is thy place of blissful rest ? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast...
Страница iii - From wandering on a foreign strand ? If such there breathe, go mark him well : For him no minstrel raptures swell ; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ; Despite those titles, power and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonored and unsung.
Страница ix - Come away, come away, Hark to the summons! Come in your war- array, Gentles and commons. Come from deep glen, and From mountain so rocky; The war-pipe and pennon Are at Inverlochy. Come every hill-plaid, and True heart that wears one, Come every steel blade, and Strong hand that bears one.
Страница 155 - Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down! Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain.
Страница x - MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS. MY heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here ; My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer ; Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
Страница 25 - SHANTER: A TALE Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this buke. — GAWIN DOUGLAS. When chapman billies leave the street, And drouthy neebors neebors meet, As market-days are wearing late, An' folk begin to tak the gate, While we sit bousing at the nappy, An...
Страница 30 - Tam wi' furious ettle ; But little wist she Maggie's mettle — Ae spring brought off her master hale, But left behind her ain gray tail : The carlin claught her by the rump, And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. Now, wha this tale o...
Страница iii - BREATHES there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land ? Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned From wandering on a foreign strand...