Minor Poems, Ballads, and Joan of ArcG. Routledge & Company, 1858 - Всего страниц: 469 |
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Стр. 32
... twas but a dream , perhaps . And yet methought that when a louder peal Burst o'er the roof , and all was left again Utterly dark , each bodily sense was clear And sensible to every circumstance Of time and place . " Attentive to her ...
... twas but a dream , perhaps . And yet methought that when a louder peal Burst o'er the roof , and all was left again Utterly dark , each bodily sense was clear And sensible to every circumstance Of time and place . " Attentive to her ...
Стр. 45
... Twas on the last night Before I left Domremi's pleasant home , I sate beside the brook , my labouring soul Full , as inebriate with Divinity . Then , Conrade ! I beheld the ruffian herd Circle a flaming pile , where at the stake A ...
... Twas on the last night Before I left Domremi's pleasant home , I sate beside the brook , my labouring soul Full , as inebriate with Divinity . Then , Conrade ! I beheld the ruffian herd Circle a flaming pile , where at the stake A ...
Стр. 108
... Twas now the hour When o'er the plain the pensive hues of eve Shed their meek radiance ; when the lowing herd , Slow as they stalk to shelter , draw behind The lengthening shades ; and seeking his high nest As heavily he flaps the dewy ...
... Twas now the hour When o'er the plain the pensive hues of eve Shed their meek radiance ; when the lowing herd , Slow as they stalk to shelter , draw behind The lengthening shades ; and seeking his high nest As heavily he flaps the dewy ...
Стр. 142
... Twas the first day I ever left my home ! Years intervening have not worn away The deep remembrance of that wretched day , Nor taught me to forget my earliest fears , A mother's fondness , and a mother's tears ; When close she prest me ...
... Twas the first day I ever left my home ! Years intervening have not worn away The deep remembrance of that wretched day , Nor taught me to forget my earliest fears , A mother's fondness , and a mother's tears ; When close she prest me ...
Стр. 152
... Twas here Avaro dwelt , who daily told His useless heaps of wealth in selfish joy ; Who lov'd to ruminate o'er hoarded gold , And hid those stores he dreaded to employ . In vain to him benignant heaven bestow'd The golden heaps to ...
... Twas here Avaro dwelt , who daily told His useless heaps of wealth in selfish joy ; Who lov'd to ruminate o'er hoarded gold , And hid those stores he dreaded to employ . In vain to him benignant heaven bestow'd The golden heaps to ...
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amid arbalist arms art thou bade Battle of Patay Beelzebub behold beneath bless blest blood bloody judge breast Charlemagne cheek cheerful chief child Chinon clouds cold Conrade coursers cried dark dead death deep dreadful Dunois English exclaim'd fair falchion fame father fear feel fell fierce fire fled France gaze hand happiness hath hear heard heart Heaven holy hope host hour JOAN OF ARC king live Lord loud Maid Maid of Orleans Maiden midnight morning never night o'er Odin Orleans pale pass'd peace plain ponderous poor prayer rest Rheims Richemont ROBERT SOUTHEY round rush'd scene smile song soon sorrow soul sound Southey spake stood STRANGER stream strong sword Talbot tempest thee thine thought throng toil towers traveller troops Twas victor song voice walls warrior waves whilst wild wind woman wretched young youth
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Стр. 327 - IT wAS a summer evening; Old Kaspar's work was done. And he before his cottage door Was sitting in the sun; And by him sported on the green His little grandchild Wilhelmine. She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round. Which he beside the rivulet In playing there had found; He came to ask what he had found. That was so large and smooth and round. Old Kaspar took it from the boy, Who stood expectant by; And then the old man shook his head, And with...
Стр. 328 - They say it was a shocking sight after the field was won; for many thousand bodies here lay rotting in the sun; but things like that, you know, must be after a famous victory. Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, and our good Prince Eugene. "Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!" said little Wilhelmine. "Nay... nay... my little girl," quoth he, "it was a famous victory.
Стр. 328 - twas a famous victory. "My father lived at Blenheim then, Yon little stream hard by; They burnt his dwelling to the ground, And he was forced to fly; So with his wife and child he fled, Nor had he where to rest his head.
Стр. 329 - And everybody praised the Duke Who this great fight did win." " But what good came of it at last ?" Quoth little Peterkin. " Why, that I cannot tell," said he,
Стр. 327 - twas all about,' Young Peterkin, he cries; And little Wilhelmine looks up With wonder-waiting eyes; 'Now tell us all about the war, And what they fought each other for.
Стр. 344 - O READER ! hast thou ever stood to see The Holly Tree ? The eye that contemplates it well perceives Its glossy leaves Order'd by an intelligence so wise, As might confound the Atheist's sophistries. Below, a circling fence, its leaves are seen Wrinkled and keen ; No grazing cattle through their prickly round Can reach to wound ; But as they grow where nothing is to fear, Smooth and unarm'd the pointless leaves appear.
Стр. 283 - Behind a wide column, half breathless with fear, She crept to conceal herself there ; That instant the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear, And she saw in the moonlight two ruffians appear, And between them a corpse did they bear.
Стр. 312 - Now art thou a bachelor, stranger?" quoth he, "For an if thou hast a wife, The happiest draught thou hast drank this day That ever thou didst in thy life.
Стр. 368 - Maturer Manhood now arrives, And other thoughts come on, But with the baseless hopes of Youth Its generous warmth is gone ; Cold calculating cares succeed, The timid thought, the wary deed, The dull realities of truth ; Back on the past he turns his eye, Remembering with an envious sigh The happy dreams of Youth. So reaches he the latter stage Of this our mortal pilgrimage, With feeble step and slow ; New ills that latter stage await, And old Experience learns too late That all is vanity below. Life's...
Стр. 367 - MAN hath a weary pilgrimage As through the world he wends, On every stage from youth to age Still discontent attends ; With heaviness he casts his eye Upon the road before, And still remembers with a sigh The days that are no more.