The Poets of the Nineteenth CenturyRobert Aris Willmott Harper & Brothers, 1881 - Всего страниц: 674 |
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Стр. 13
... thou wast , king of the woods ; And Time hath made thee what thou art — a cave For owls to roost in . Once thy spreading boughs O'erhung the champaign ; and the num'rous flocks That graz'd it stood beneath that ample cope Uncrowded ...
... thou wast , king of the woods ; And Time hath made thee what thou art — a cave For owls to roost in . Once thy spreading boughs O'erhung the champaign ; and the num'rous flocks That graz'd it stood beneath that ample cope Uncrowded ...
Стр. 18
... thou art she . My mother ! when I learn'd that thou wast dead , Say , wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son , Wretch even then , life's journey just begun ? Perhaps thou gav'st me , though ...
... thou art she . My mother ! when I learn'd that thou wast dead , Say , wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son , Wretch even then , life's journey just begun ? Perhaps thou gav'st me , though ...
Стр. 20
Robert Aris Willmott. So little to be lov'd , and thou so much , That I should ill ... thou , with sails how swift ! hast reach'd the shore , " Where tempests ... art safe , and he ! That thought is joy , arrive what may to me . My boast ...
Robert Aris Willmott. So little to be lov'd , and thou so much , That I should ill ... thou , with sails how swift ! hast reach'd the shore , " Where tempests ... art safe , and he ! That thought is joy , arrive what may to me . My boast ...
Стр. 35
... thou art , My spirit is proud as thine own . From thy rocks , stormy Lannow , I fly ! Lo ! the wings of the sea - fowl are spread To escape the loud storm by their flight ; And these caves will afford them a gloomy retreat From the ...
... thou art , My spirit is proud as thine own . From thy rocks , stormy Lannow , I fly ! Lo ! the wings of the sea - fowl are spread To escape the loud storm by their flight ; And these caves will afford them a gloomy retreat From the ...
Стр. 41
... . How changed is thy appearance , beauteous Hill ! Thou hast put off thy wintry garb , brown heath And russet fern , thy seemly - colour'd cloak , To bide the hoary frosts and dripping rains Of chill December , and art gaily robed In livery.
... . How changed is thy appearance , beauteous Hill ! Thou hast put off thy wintry garb , brown heath And russet fern , thy seemly - colour'd cloak , To bide the hoary frosts and dripping rains Of chill December , and art gaily robed In livery.
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The Poets of the Nineteenth Century Robert Aris Willmott,Evert Augustus Duyckinck Полный просмотр - 1858 |
Часто встречающиеся слова и выражения
Amelia Opie beam beauty beneath bird blue bosom Bouillabaisse bower breast breath bright brow charms cheek cloud dark dead dear deep delight DEN BOSCH Ditto dread dream earth F. O. C. Darley face fair fear flowers friends gaze gentle gleam glory grave green hand hast hath heard heart heaven hill hour James Godwin Kilmeny LEWESDON HILL light living lonely look lov'd morning mother murmur never night o'er ocean old oaken bucket pride rocks rose round SACK OF BALTIMORE scene seem'd shade shadow shining shore sigh sight silent Sir Bedivere sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars storm stream summer sweet tears thee thine thou art thought tree trembling Twas vale VISIT FROM ST voice W. D. Howells wandering wave weep wild wind wings wood youth
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Стр. 138 - Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hillside; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music: — Do I wake or sleep?
Стр. 137 - I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild...
Стр. 155 - 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. " She shall be sportive as the fawn, That wild with glee across the lawn Or up the mountain springs; And hers shall be the breathing balm, And hers the silence and the calm Of mute insensate things.
Стр. 467 - Wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; — Vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow — Sorrow for the lost Lenore — For the rare and radiant maiden Whom the angels name Lenore — Nameless here for evermore.
Стр. 368 - Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerly still ; and said, " I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men.
Стр. 137 - Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain To thy high requiem become a sod.
Стр. 301 - And now when comes the calm, mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home, When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.
Стр. 139 - All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I Live o'er again that happy hour, When midway on the mount I lay, Beside the ruined tower. The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, Had blended with the lights of eve; And she was there, my hope, my joy, My own dear Genevieve! She leant against the armed man.
Стр. 440 - Merlin sware that I should come again To rule once more— but let what will be be, I am so deeply smitten thro' the helm That without help I cannot last till morn. Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur, Which was my pride; for thou rememberest how In those old days, one summer noon, an arm Rose up from out the bosom of the lake, Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, Holding the sword— and...
Стр. 443 - The great brand Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon, And flashing round and round, and whirl'd in an arch, Shot like a streamer of the northern morn, Seen where the moving isles of winter shock By night, with noises of the northern sea. So...