Choice Literature, Книги 7American Book Company., 1912 |
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Стр. 11
― cannot kill it , it is dead ; at the same time it lives . It lives with a sinister life bestowed on it by Infinity . The planks beneath it give it play . It is moved by the ship , which is moved by the sea , which is moved by the wind ...
― cannot kill it , it is dead ; at the same time it lives . It lives with a sinister life bestowed on it by Infinity . The planks beneath it give it play . It is moved by the ship , which is moved by the sea , which is moved by the wind ...
Стр. 42
... live the Emperor ! " appeared above the crest . The whole of this cavalry debouched on the plateau , and it was like the com- mencement of an earthquake . All at once , terrible to relate , the head of the column of cuirassiers facing ...
... live the Emperor ! " appeared above the crest . The whole of this cavalry debouched on the plateau , and it was like the com- mencement of an earthquake . All at once , terrible to relate , the head of the column of cuirassiers facing ...
Стр. 48
... lives at Mont St. Jean ; his name is Dehaze , and he was eighteen years of age at the time . Wellington felt himself giving way , and the crisis was close at hand . The cuirassiers had not suc- English center had not been ceeded , in ...
... lives at Mont St. Jean ; his name is Dehaze , and he was eighteen years of age at the time . Wellington felt himself giving way , and the crisis was close at hand . The cuirassiers had not suc- English center had not been ceeded , in ...
Стр. 52
... live the Emperor ! " History has nothing more striking than this death rattle breaking out into acclamations . The sky had been covered the whole day , but at this very moment , eight o'clock in the evening , the clouds parted in the ...
... live the Emperor ! " History has nothing more striking than this death rattle breaking out into acclamations . The sky had been covered the whole day , but at this very moment , eight o'clock in the evening , the clouds parted in the ...
Стр. 54
... live Marshal Ney ! " Two regiments of Durotte's move backward and forward in terror , and , as it were , tossed between the sabers of the Hussars and the musketry fire of Kempt's , Best's , and Pack's brigades . A rout is the worst of ...
... live Marshal Ney ! " Two regiments of Durotte's move backward and forward in terror , and , as it were , tossed between the sabers of the Hussars and the musketry fire of Kempt's , Best's , and Pack's brigades . A rout is the worst of ...
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Alba Longa ALFRED TENNYSON arms Bass Bassanio battle blood blow born brave breast breath Brutus Cæsar carronade Casca Cassius clouds Clusium cuirassiers dark dead death doth ducats earth Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair father fear fire Genappe Gilliatt give Gratiano hand hark hast hath head hear heard heart heaven honor Horatius Jessica Julius Cæsar King Lars Porsena Laun Launcelot light live look lord Lorenzo Lucilius Lucius Mark Antony Messala Nerissa never night noble o'er Octavius octopus Old Glory Portia pray ring Roman Rome Sail Salar shalt ship Shylock smile song soul sound spake speak spirit stand star-spangled banner stood sweet sword tell thee thine things THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY thou art thought thousand thrice Titinius to-day turned unto Venice wave weather WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE wind
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Стр. 188 - Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since : their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts : not so thou ; Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play, Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow — Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.
Стр. 241 - 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 ? 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 concentered all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly...
Стр. 409 - The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils ; The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And his affections dark as Erebus : Let no such man be trusted.
Стр. 472 - tis his will: Let but the commons hear this testament (Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read), And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, And dip their napkins in his sacred blood; Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it as a rich legacy Unto their issue.
Стр. 123 - He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment seat: Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet! Our God is marching on. In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me: As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, While God is marching on.
Стр. 326 - Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride At length broke under me, and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Стр. 233 - Tis sweeter far to me, To walk together to the kirk With a goodly company! — To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, Old men, and babes, and loving friends And youths and maidens gay!
Стр. 475 - I am no orator, as Brutus is ; But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, That love 'my friend ; and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him. For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood : I only speak right on ; I tell you that which you yourselves do know ; Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths...
Стр. 248 - The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn. Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Стр. 325 - The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side; His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound.