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Стр. 118 - Are not a spoil for him, — thou dost arise And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray And howling, to his Gods, where haply lies His petty hope in some near port or bay, And dashest him again to earth: — there let him lay.
Стр. 121 - Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower: Like a glowworm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its aerial hue Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view...
Стр. 121 - What thou art we know not ; What is most like thee ? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see, As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Like a poet hidden, In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not...
Стр. 73 - For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the deck, You've fallen cold and dead.
Стр. 123 - We look before and after, And pine for what is not: Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Стр. 34 - ... stone ; And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, And with circles of red for his eye-sockets
Стр. 73 - Captain! My Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up - for you the flag is flung - for you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and...
Стр. 119 - And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy I wantoned with thy breakers — they to me Were a delight : and if the freshening sea Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear, For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here.
Стр. 45 - D'Aumale hath cried for quarter; the Flemish count is slain. Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale; The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail. And then we thought on vengeance, and, all along our van, "Remember Saint Bartholomew!" was passed from man to man. But out spake gentle Henry, "No Frenchman is my foe: Down, down with every foreigner, but let your brethren go.
Стр. 4 - This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, Sails the unshadowed main; The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming Lair.