Masterpieces of the World's Best Literature, Том 2Jeannette Leonard Gilder Christian Herald, 1910 |
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Стр. 9
... poor orphan child . Why did they send me so far and so lonely , Up where the moors spread and gray rocks are piled ? Men are hard - hearted , and kind angels only Watch o'er the steps of a poor orphan child . Yet distant and soft the ...
... poor orphan child . Why did they send me so far and so lonely , Up where the moors spread and gray rocks are piled ? Men are hard - hearted , and kind angels only Watch o'er the steps of a poor orphan child . Yet distant and soft the ...
Стр. 35
... poor - it will not suit me to permit any one the range of the place while I am off guard ! " said the unmannerly wretch . With this insult my patience was at an end . I uttered an expression of disgust , and pushed past him into the ...
... poor - it will not suit me to permit any one the range of the place while I am off guard ! " said the unmannerly wretch . With this insult my patience was at an end . I uttered an expression of disgust , and pushed past him into the ...
Стр. 37
... poor lad , he's fair chok- ing ! Wisht , wisht ! you mun'n't go on so - come in , and I'll cure that . There , now , hold ye still . " With these words she suddenly splashed a pint of icy water down my neck , and pulled me into the ...
... poor lad , he's fair chok- ing ! Wisht , wisht ! you mun'n't go on so - come in , and I'll cure that . There , now , hold ye still . " With these words she suddenly splashed a pint of icy water down my neck , and pulled me into the ...
Стр. 46
... poor nussin for sum of you ! " whereupon Old Abe buttoned his weskit clear up and blusht iike a maidin of sweet 16. Jest at this pint of the conversation another swarm of orfice - seekers arrove & cum pilin into the parler . Sum wanted ...
... poor nussin for sum of you ! " whereupon Old Abe buttoned his weskit clear up and blusht iike a maidin of sweet 16. Jest at this pint of the conversation another swarm of orfice - seekers arrove & cum pilin into the parler . Sum wanted ...
Стр. 54
... Poor House in about two years . If you think the honest old farmers of Barclay County want me , I will come . Truly Yours , CHARLES F. BROWNE . ELIZABETH B. BROWNING ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING , an English poetess 54 CHARLES F. BROWNE.
... Poor House in about two years . If you think the honest old farmers of Barclay County want me , I will come . Truly Yours , CHARLES F. BROWNE . ELIZABETH B. BROWNING ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING , an English poetess 54 CHARLES F. BROWNE.
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Часто встречающиеся слова и выражения
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!