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arms bear bells beneath bore brave breath bright brow Christmas close cloud cried dark dead dear death deep Douglas dream earth eyes face fair fall fear fell fields fight fire gave give gold grace grave green half hall hand hath head hear heard heart heaven hills hold hour human Italy JOHN King lady laid land leave light lips living look Lord nature never night o'er once pass poetry poor pride rest ROBERT Robin Hood rolled Rome rose round seemed seen Shakespeare ship side smile song soul sound spirit spring stand stood strong sweet tears tell thee thine things THOMAS thou thought Till tower true turned voice wall wave wild wind wonder
Стр. xxxii - O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.
Стр. 88 - Hear the loud alarum bells — Brazen bells! What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells; In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright! Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire.
Стр. 161 - Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, How often have I loitered o'er thy green, Where humble happiness endeared each scene...
Стр. 87 - HEAR the sledges with the bells — Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night ! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight...
Стр. 169 - No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail; No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear...
Стр. 73 - The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon ; With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ; His youthful hose well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank ; and his big, manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound.
Стр. 39 - Green be the turf above thee, Friend of my better days! None knew thee but to love thee, Nor named thee but to praise.
Стр. 81 - A heavenly image in the glass appears, To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears; Th' inferior priestess, at her altar's side, Trembling, begins the sacred rites of pride.
Стр. lii - Soul of the age! The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! My Shakespeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie A little further, to make thee a room: Thou art a monument without a tomb, And art alive still while thy book doth live And we have wits to read and praise to give.