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arms Arth banner battle bells beneath Black Crows blood brave breast breath brow Brutus Caesar Cato cried dark dead death deep dread earth England eyes fair Falstaff fame father fear feel fell fire gallant Gelert glory grave Greece hand hast hath head hear heard heart heaven honour Inchcape Rock Inflection irapa Jackdaw king Lapstone Lars Porsena light live look Lord loud lyre Macd mighty morn murmurs never Nevermore night noble o'er once pause peal pride Prince H Protesilaus proud Quoth rise roar rock roll Rome round Samian wine shore shout silent Sir Fret Sir Luc Skiddaw sleep smile soul sound speak stood storm sweet swell sword tears tell thee thou thought thunder Twas voice waves wild wind words Zounds
Стр. 203 - Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,— " Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, " art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore: Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore !" Quoth the Raven,
Стр. 171 - Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in...
Стр. 168 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.
Стр. 171 - Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valour, rolling on the foe And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.
Стр. 84 - Hear the tolling of the bells — Iron bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels) In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright, At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan.
Стр. 229 - 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...
Стр. 262 - I could weep My spirit from mine eyes ! There is my dagger, And here my naked breast ; within, a heart Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold ; If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth ; I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart ; Strike, as thou didst at Caesar ; for I know, When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better Than ever thou lovedst Cassius.
Стр. 191 - THE isles of Greece, the isles of Greece, Where burning Sappho loved and sung, Where grew the arts of war and peace, Where Delos rose and Phoebus sprung! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set. The Scian and the Teian muse, The hero's harp, the lover's lute, Have found the fame your shores refuse; Their place of birth alone is mute To sounds which echo further west Than your sires
Стр. 65 - Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, — The desert and illimitable air, — Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near. And soon that toil shall end ; Soon shalt thou find a summer home and rest, And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend, Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest.