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Стр. 545 - D'Aumale hath cried for quarter. The Flemish Count is slain. Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale; The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail ; And then, we thought on vengeance, and, all along our van, "Remember St. Bartholomew," was passed from man to man; But out spake gentle Henry, "No Frenchman is my foe: Down, down with every foreigner, but let your brethren go.
Стр. 584 - Night sank upon the dusky beach and on the purple sea, Such night in England ne'er had been, nor e'er again shall be. From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford Bay, That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day; For swift to east and swift to west the ghastly warflame spread, High on St. Michael's Mount it shone: it shone on Beachy Head. Far on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern shire, Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire.
Стр. 544 - Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, oh pleasant land of France! And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters. As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy.
Стр. 473 - The Three stood calm and silent. And looked upon the foes. And a great shout of laughter From all the vanguard rose : And forth three chiefs came spurring Before that deep array; To earth they sprang, their swords they drew, And lifted high their shields, and flew To win the narrow way...
Стр. 465 - Tall are the oaks whose acorns Drop in dark Auser's rill ; Fat are the stags that champ the boughs Of the Ciminian hill ; Beyond all streams Clitumnus Is to the herdsman dear ; Best of all pools the fowler loves The great Volsinian mere.
Стр. 584 - As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in : And eastward straight from wild Blackheath the warlike errand went, And roused in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent. Southward from Surrey's pleasant hills flew those bright couriers' forth ; High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor they started for the north ; And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still : All night from tower to tower they sprang; they sprang from hill to hill...
Стр. 469 - Just then a scout came flying, All wild with haste and fear: "To arms! to arms! Sir Consul, — Lars Porsena is here." On the low hills to westward The Consul fixed his eye, And saw the swarthy storm of dust Rise fast along the sky.
Стр. 473 - Meanwhile the Tuscan army, Right glorious to behold, Came flashing back the noonday light, Rank behind rank, like surges bright Of a broad sea of gold. Four hundred trumpets sounded A peal of warlike glee, As that great host, with measured tread, And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, Rolled slowly towards the bridge's head, Where stood the dauntless Three. The Three stood calm and silent, And looked upon the foes, And a great shout of laughter From all the vanguard rose...
Стр. 481 - It stands in the Comitium, Plain for all folk to see — Horatius in his harness, Halting upon one knee ; And underneath is written In letters all of gold How valiantly he kept the bridge In the brave days of old.
Стр. 472 - Now while the three were tightening Their harness on their backs, The Consul was the foremost man To take in hand an axe; And fathers, mixed with commons, Seized hatchet, bar, and crow, And smote upon the planks above, And loosed the props below...