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Стр. 458 - Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings; Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; And now,— instead of mounting barbed steeds, To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,— He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
Стр. 452 - Could great men thunder As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet, For every pelting, petty officer, Would use his heaven for thunder ; Nothing but thunder. Merciful heaven ! Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak, Than the soft myrtle...
Стр. 20 - Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers and all: Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word.) " O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?
Стр. 140 - Where the thin harvest waves its withered ears; Rank weeds, that every art and care defy, Reign o'er the land and rob the blighted rye...
Стр. 363 - Slaves cannot breathe in England ; * if their lungs Receive our air, that moment they are free, They touch our country, and their shackles, fall.
Стр. 13 - DAY set on Norham's castled steep. And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep. And Cheviot's mountains lone : The battled towers, the donjon keep, The loop-hole grates where captives weep. The flanking walls that round it sweep, In yellow lustre shone.
Стр. 135 - ... subject: but, instead of new images of tenderness, or delicate representation of intelligible feelings, he has contrived to tell us nothing whatever of the unfortunate fair one, but that her name is Martha Ray ; and that she goes up to the top of a hill, in a red cloak, and cries
Стр. 138 - Such is that room which one rude beam divides, And naked rafters form the sloping sides; Where the vile bands that bind the thatch are seen, And lath and mud are all that lie between; Save one dull pane, that, coarsely...
Стр. 20 - So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; And the bride-maidens whispered, "'Twere better by far, To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.