Library of the World's Best Literature, Ancient and Modern, Том 8

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Charles Dudley Warner, Hamilton Wright Mabie, Lucia Isabella Gilbert Runkle, George Henry Warner
J. A. Hill, 1902

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Стр. 3174 - I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young ; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.
Стр. 3319 - You are old. Father William,' the young man said, 'And your hair has become very white; And yet you incessantly stand on your head — Do you think, at your age, it is right?' " 'In my youth,' Father William replied to his son, 'I feared it might injure the brain; But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none, Why, I do it again and again.
Стр. 3177 - Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below — As they roar on the shore, When the stormy winds do blow; When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow. The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn; Till danger's troubled night depart And the star of peace return. Then, then, ye ocean-warriors! Our song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow; When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the...
Стр. 3195 - Who in their coaches roll along the turnpikeRoad, what hard work 'tis crying all day, 'Knives and Scissors to grind, O'! "Tell me, Knife-grinder, how came you to grind knives? Did some rich man tyrannically use you? Was it the squire? or parson of the parish? Or the attorney? "Was it the squire, for killing of his game, or Covetous parson, for his tithes distraining? Or roguish lawyer, made you lose your little All in a lawsuit? "(Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom Paine?) Drops of compassion...
Стр. 3171 - But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. Weep, Albin ! to death and captivity led; Oh, weep ! but thy tears cannot number the dead ; For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave — Culloden that reeks with the blood of the brave.
Стр. 3174 - I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this Lord Ullin's daughter. — And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather. His horsemen hard behind us ride ; Should they our steps discover...
Стр. 3179 - Like leviathans afloat, Lay their bulwarks on the brine; While the sign of battle flew On the lofty British line : It was ten of April morn by the chime : As they drifted on their path, There was silence deep as death; And the boldest held his breath, For a time. But the might of England flushed To anticipate the scene; And her van the fleeter rushed O'er the deadly space between. 'Hearts of oak!
Стр. 3178 - Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun Shout in their sulph'rous canopy. The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave ! Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry...
Стр. 3182 - By the festal cities blaze, Whilst the wine-cup shines in light ; And yet amidst that joy and uproar Let us think of them that sleep, Full many a fathom deep, By thy wild and stormy steep, Elsinore.
Стр. 3320 - You are old,' said the youth, 'one would hardly suppose That your eye was as steady as ever; Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose What made you so awfully clever?' 'I have answered three questions, and that is enough, 'Said his father; 'don't give yourself airs!

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