A Thousand and One Gems of English PoetryGeorge Routledge & Sons, Limited, 1896 - Всего страниц: 633 |
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Стр. 4
... land , the hills , that doth them intermete , Twene me and those shene lights that wonted for to clere , My darked pangs of cloudy thoughts as bright as Phebus sphere ; It teacheth me also , what was my plea- sant state , The more to ...
... land , the hills , that doth them intermete , Twene me and those shene lights that wonted for to clere , My darked pangs of cloudy thoughts as bright as Phebus sphere ; It teacheth me also , what was my plea- sant state , The more to ...
Стр. 10
... land , Which is mine heritage , I will you bring ; and with a ring By way of marriage I will you take , and lady make , As shortly as I can : Thus have you won an Erly's son , And not a banished man . AUTHOR - Here may ye see , that ...
... land , Which is mine heritage , I will you bring ; and with a ring By way of marriage I will you take , and lady make , As shortly as I can : Thus have you won an Erly's son , And not a banished man . AUTHOR - Here may ye see , that ...
Стр. 21
... land , A servile lot , deck'd with a pompous name , Are the strange ends we toil for here below , Till wisest death make us our errors know . UJOHN DONNE . 1573-1631 . ] THE MESSAGE . SEND home my long stray'd eyes to me , Which , oh ...
... land , A servile lot , deck'd with a pompous name , Are the strange ends we toil for here below , Till wisest death make us our errors know . UJOHN DONNE . 1573-1631 . ] THE MESSAGE . SEND home my long stray'd eyes to me , Which , oh ...
Стр. 22
... Land . Ah , wretched We ! poets of earth ! but thou Wert living the same poet which thou'rt now . Whilst angels sing to thee their airs divine , And joy in an applause so great as thine , Equal society with them to hold , Thou need'st ...
... Land . Ah , wretched We ! poets of earth ! but thou Wert living the same poet which thou'rt now . Whilst angels sing to thee their airs divine , And joy in an applause so great as thine , Equal society with them to hold , Thou need'st ...
Стр. 24
... land : A tyrant is a rod and serpent too , And brings worse plagues than Egypt knew . What rivers stain'd with blood have been ? What storm and hail - shot have we seen ? What sores deform'd the ulcerous state ? What darkness to be felt ...
... land : A tyrant is a rod and serpent too , And brings worse plagues than Egypt knew . What rivers stain'd with blood have been ? What storm and hail - shot have we seen ? What sores deform'd the ulcerous state ? What darkness to be felt ...
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ANTISTROPHE art thou Ave Maria beauty beneath bless blest bliss bloom bosom bower breast breath bright brow busk charms cheek clouds Clusium cold Cuckoo dark dead dear death deep delight doth dream earth eternal eyes fair fear flowers frae gaze gentle glory grave green grief hand happy harp hast hath hear heart heaven hill hope hour king Lars Porsena light lips live lonely look Lord lyre maid moon morn mourn muse ne'er never night Nut-brown Maid nymph o'er pale pride rill rose round Samian wine shade shine shore sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars stream sweet tears tell tempest thee thine thou art thought tree Twas vale voice wave weary ween weep wild winds wings Yarrow young youth
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Стр. 36 - When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept : Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; And Brutus is an honourable man. You all did see, that on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; And, sure, he is an honourable man.
Стр. 69 - His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory ; But far beyond my depth ; my high-blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye ; I feel my heart new opened : O, how wretched Is that poor man, that hangs on princes...
Стр. 192 - Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride With incense kindled at the muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learned to stray; Along the cool sequestered vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Стр. 273 - 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. 60 - This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden demi-paradise ; This fortress, built by nature for herself, Against infection, and the hand of war; This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands; This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England...
Стр. 103 - Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves, Where other groves and other streams along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, And hears the unexpressive nuptial song In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. There entertain him all the Saints above, In solemn troops, and sweet societies, That sing, and singing in their glory move, And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Стр. 274 - 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.
Стр. 70 - Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr!
Стр. 30 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill : But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath When they, pale captives,...
Стр. 424 - The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.