Poems of Places: Scotland, Denmark, Iceland, Norway, and Sweden

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
J. R. Osgood, 1876
 

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Стр. 51 - My noble partner You greet with present grace, and great prediction Of noble having, and of royal hope, That he seems rapt withal ; to me you speak not. If you can look into the seeds of Time, And say, which grain will grow and which will not, Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear Your favors nor your hate.
Стр. 73 - This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, By his loved mansionry, that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here. No jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle. Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed, The air is delicate.
Стр. 66 - Had placed that Bell on the Inchcape Rock; On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung, And over the waves its warning rung. When the Rock was hid by the surge's swell, The mariners heard the warning Bell ; And then they knew the perilous Rock, And blest the Abbot of Aberbrothok.
Стр. 51 - Live you ? or are you aught That man may question ? You seem to understand me, By each at once her choppy finger laying Upon her skinny lips : — You should be women, And yet your beards forbid me to interpret That you are so.
Стр. 51 - Good sir, why do you start, and seem to fear Things that do sound so fair ? — I' th
Стр. 59 - Now let this wilfu' grief be done, And dry that cheek so pale ; Young Frank is chief of Errington And lord of Langley-dale ; His step is first in peaceful ha', His sword in battle keen ' — But aye she loot the tears down fa
Стр. 130 - The Minstrel came once more to view The eastern ridge of Benvenue, For, ere he parted, he would say Farewell to lovely Loch Achray — Where shall he find, in foreign land, So lone a lake, so sweet a strand...
Стр. 78 - Then why should I be loth to stir? I feel this place was made for her; To give new pleasure like the past, Continued long as life shall last.
Стр. 231 - O listen, listen, ladies gay ! No haughty feat of arms I tell ; Soft is the note, and sad the lay, That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. — " Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew ! And, gentle ladye, deign to stay ! Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day.
Стр. 132 - But here, — above, around, below, On mountain or in glen, Nor tree, nor shrub, nor plant, nor flower, Nor aught of vegetative power, The weary eye may ken. For all is rocks at random thrown, Black waves, bare crags, and banks of stone...

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