Masterpieces of the World's Best Literature, Том 2Jeannette Leonard Gilder Christian Herald, 1910 |
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Стр. 6
... deep or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes ? On what wings dare he aspire ? What the hand dare seize the fire ? And what shoulder and what art Could twist the sinews of thy heart ? And , when thy heart began to beat , What dread hand ...
... deep or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes ? On what wings dare he aspire ? What the hand dare seize the fire ? And what shoulder and what art Could twist the sinews of thy heart ? And , when thy heart began to beat , What dread hand ...
Стр. 8
... deep , with a power as prophet - like and as vital— a mien as dauntless and as daring . Is the satirist of “ Vanity Fair ” admired in high places ? I can- not tell ; but I think if some of those amongst whom he hurls the Greek - fire of ...
... deep , with a power as prophet - like and as vital— a mien as dauntless and as daring . Is the satirist of “ Vanity Fair ” admired in high places ? I can- not tell ; but I think if some of those amongst whom he hurls the Greek - fire of ...
Стр. 55
... deep , cool bed of the river . The limpid water turbidly ran , And the broken lilies a - dying lay , And the dragon - fly had fled away , Ere he brought it out of the river . High on the shore sate the great god Pan , While turbidly ...
... deep , cool bed of the river . The limpid water turbidly ran , And the broken lilies a - dying lay , And the dragon - fly had fled away , Ere he brought it out of the river . High on the shore sate the great god Pan , While turbidly ...
Стр. 56
... afar Along the Psalmist's music deep , Now tell me if that any is For gift or grace surpassing this , - " He giveth His beloved sleep " ? What would we give to our beloved ? The hero's $ 6 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING The Sleep.
... afar Along the Psalmist's music deep , Now tell me if that any is For gift or grace surpassing this , - " He giveth His beloved sleep " ? What would we give to our beloved ? The hero's $ 6 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING The Sleep.
Стр. 65
... deep and wide , Washes its wall on the southern side ; A pleasanter spot you never spied ; But , when begins my ditty , Almost five hundred years ago , To see the townsfolk suffer so From vermin was a pity . Rats ! They fought the dogs ...
... deep and wide , Washes its wall on the southern side ; A pleasanter spot you never spied ; But , when begins my ditty , Almost five hundred years ago , To see the townsfolk suffer so From vermin was a pity . Rats ! They fought the dogs ...
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Albert Edard answered arms Artemus Ward auld lang syne beauty bird born brave bright called Carlyle Childe Harold's Pilgrimage Chingachgook cried dark dead dear death Don Quixote dream earth eyes face father feel galloped gate Gilpin gladiator Glaucus Guarinos hand hath head hear heard heart Heathcliff Heaven hope horse hour Jane Jane Eyre John Gilpin King Lady Malkinshaw laugh light living look Lord Lydon Marlotes mind morning never night o'er Old Abe Pamby pilot poor pride retiarius river roar round Samian wine Sancho seemed silent sing sleep smile soul sound speak stood sweet tears tell Tetraides thawt thee things THOMAS CHATTERTON Thornfield Hall thou thought tion tree trumpet truth turned voice waters wild wind woods words Wuthering Heights
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Стр. 83 - Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, And, lost each human trace, surrendering up Thine individual being, shalt thou go To mix forever with the elements, To be a brother to the insensible rock And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain Turns with his share, and treads upon.
Стр. 6 - And what shoulder, and what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? ana what dread feet? What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain?
Стр. 163 - The mountains look on Marathon — And Marathon looks on the sea; And musing there an hour alone, I dreamed that Greece might still be free; For standing on the Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave. A king sate on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis ; And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations ; — all were his ! He counted them at break of day — And when the sun set where were they ? And where are they?
Стр. 170 - twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet But hark!
Стр. 167 - The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye ! Whose agonies are evils of a day — A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay.
Стр. 133 - Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed ; How He, who bore in Heaven the second name, Had not on earth whereon to lay His head: How His first followers and servants sped ; The precepts sage they wrote to many a land: How he, who lone in Patmos banished, Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand ; And heard great Babylon's doom pronounced by Heaven's command. Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband prays : Hope 'springs...
Стр. 127 - Ye banks and braes and streams around The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie ! There simmer first unfauld her robes, And there the langest tarry ; For there I took the last fareweel O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasp'd her to my bosom ! The golden hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my dearie ; For dear to me as light and life Was my...
Стр. 132 - And sage experience bids me this declare— '' If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, One cordial in this melancholy vale, Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, In other's arms, breathe out the tender tale, Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.
Стр. 79 - midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way ? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
Стр. 163 - Must we but weep o'er days more blest ? Must we but blush? — Our fathers bled. Earth! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead! Of the three hundred grant but three To make a new Thermopylae!