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Alfred Tennyson auld lang syne Balaklava beauty bells beneath bird blessed born brave breast breath bright brow cheek child clouds cold dark dead dear death deep died dream earth eyes face fair father fear feet flowers golden grace grave gray hand happy hark hath hear heard heart heaven Henry Wadsworth Longfellow hill hour kiss land light lips live look Lord Lord Byron Maryland merry morning mother never night o'er Oliver Wendell Holmes poems poet prayer rest ring roar Robert Burns Robin Hood rose round shine shore sigh silent sing sleep smile snow song soul sound spirit star-spangled banner stars stood stream sweet tears tell thee thine things Thomas Hood Thomas Moore thought toil tree Twas voice wandering wave weary wild William Cullen Bryant wind young youth
Стр. 253 - It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes; 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown; His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above this sceptred sway, It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice.
Стр. 163 - Nevermore". "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted On this home by Horror haunted, - tell me truly, I implore Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!" Quoth the raven, "Nevermore". "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! By that heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore Tell...
Стр. 275 - Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed— and gazed— but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward...
Стр. 283 - 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. Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet, on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart. He who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,...
Стр. 414 - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Стр. 160 - Hear the sledges with the bells, Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells.' How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars, that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight...
Стр. 400 - O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning.
Стр. 389 - Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die: Into the valley of death Rode the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them...
Стр. 400 - Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done When the clock struck the hour for retiring; And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.
Стр. 262 - I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.