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Стр. 61 - Kempenfelt is gone; His last sea-fight is fought, His work of glory done. It was not in the battle ; No tempest gave the shock ; She sprang no fatal leak; She ran upon no rock. His sword was in its sheath ; His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down With twice four hundred men. Weigh the vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes! And mingle with our cup The tear that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again Full charged with England's thunder, And plough the distant main....
Стр. xxxii - A double dungeon wall and wave Have made — and like a living grave. Below the surface of the lake The dark vault lies wherein we lay...
Стр. 14 - tis not done: the attempt and not the deed Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers ready; He could not miss 'em.
Стр. 152 - What news ? what news ? your tidings tell ; Tell me you must and shall — Say why bareheaded you are come, Or why you come at all ? Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, And loved a timely joke ! And thus unto the calender In merry guise he spoke : I came because your horse would come ; And, if I well forebode, My hat and wig will soon be here, They are upon the road.
Стр. 184 - WHEN I can read my title clear To mansions in the skies, I bid farewell to every fear, And wipe my weeping eyes.
Стр. 65 - Speak, father!' once again he cried, 'If I may yet be gone!' And but the booming shots replied, And fast the flames rolled on.
Стр. 33 - And didst thou visit him no more? Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare; The waters laid thee at his doore, Ere yet the early dawn was clear. Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace, The lifted sun shone on thy face, Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place.
Стр. 187 - Now in building of chaises, I tell you what, There is always somewhere a weakest spot, In hub, tire, felloe, in spring, or thill, In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill, In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace — lurking still...
Стр. 148 - Although it grieved him sore, Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, Would trouble him much more. 'Twas long before the customers Were suited to their mind, When Betty, screaming, came down stairs, The wine is left behind ! Good lack ! quoth he — yet bring it me, My leathern belt likewise, In which I bear my trusty sword, When I do exercise.