Lyrics of the XIXth century

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William James Linton, Richard Henry Stoddard
C. Scribner's Sons, 1883
 

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Стр. 9 - THREE years she grew in sun and shower ; Then Nature said : " A lovelier flower On earth was never sown ; This child I to myself will take ; She shall be mine, and I will make A lady of my own. " Myself will to my darling be Both law and impulse ; and with me The girl, in rock and plain, In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, Shall feel an overseeing power, To kindle or restrain.
Стр. 170 - What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! How it swells How it dwells On the Future ; how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells— To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
Стр. 169 - HEAR the sledges with the bells, Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight...
Стр. 99 - Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; And, happy melodist, unwearied, For ever piping songs for ever new; More happy love! more happy, happy love! For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd, For ever panting, and for ever young; All breathing human passion far above.
Стр. 99 - Who are these coming to the sacrifice ? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands drest ? What little town by river or sea-shore, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn ? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be ; and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
Стр. 173 - 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...
Стр. 85 - HAIL to thee, blithe spirit ! Bird thou never wert, That from heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire...
Стр. 90 - And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, And the weary Day turned to his rest, Lingering like an unloved guest, I sighed for thee. Thy brother Death came, and cried, Wouldst thou me? Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, Murmured like a noontide bee, Shall I nestle near thy side? Wouldst thou me? — And I replied, No, not thee!
Стр. 100 - To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core ; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease ; For Summer has o'erbrimmed their clammy cells.
Стр. 77 - Salamis; And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations; — all were his! He counted them at break of day — And when the sun set where were they?

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