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ancient angel ANGELICA BALTASAR BARTOLOME BARTOLOMfc beautiful behold belfry BELFRY OF BRUGES Beware birds breast breath bright brooklet Bruges cachucha Charlemagne child CHISPA clouds Count of Lara CRUZADO dance dark dead death DON CARLOS Don Dinero Dost thou doth dream earth evermore Exeunt eyes fair father fear flowers Francisco gentle Ghent Gipsy gleams gold golden grave Guy de Dampierre hand hear heart heaven holy HYPOLITO Jorge Manrique land leaves Life's light lips look Luck of Edenhall maiden Minnesingers MONK moon mountains night Nils Juel o'er PADRE CURA PEDRO CRESPO poem Pray prayer PRECIOSA rain ring rise river Saint sang SCENE shadows silent sing sleep slumbered soft song sorrow soul sound stand star stood sweet tears Tharaw thee thine thou art thou hast thou shalt thought Timoneda trees unto VICTORIAN village voice wall wild wind window youth
Стр. 21 - TELL me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream ! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real ! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal ; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Стр. 24 - He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves ; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves. "My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," The Reaper said, and smiled; "Dear tokens of the earth are they, Where he was once a child. "They shall all bloom in fields of light, Transplanted by my care, And saints, upon their garments white, These sacred blossoms wear.
Стр. 43 - Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, That the poor whimpering hound Trembled to walk on. "Oft to his frozen lair Tracked I the grisly bear, While from my path the hare Fled like a shadow; Oft through the forest dark Followed the were-wolf's bark, Until the soaring lark Sang from the meadow.
Стр. 86 - Were half the power, that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals or forts: The warrior's name would be a name abhorred!
Стр. 45 - Wild was the life we led ; Many the souls that sped, Many the hearts that bled, By our stern orders. " Many a wassail-bout Wore the long Winter out ; Often our midnight shout Set the cocks crowing, As we the Berserk's tale Measured in cups of ale, Draining the oaken pail, Filled to o'erflowing.
Стр. 387 - I SHOT an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight. I breathed a song into the air, It fell to earth, 1 knew not where ; For who has sight so keen and strong.
Стр. 345 - How beautiful is the rain ! After the dust and heat, In the broad and fiery street, In the narrow lane, How beautiful is the rain ! How it clatters along the roofs, Like the tramp of hoofs ! How it gushes and struggles out From the throat of the overflowing spout ! Across the window-pane It pours and pours ; And swift and wide, With a muddy tide, Like a river down the gutter roars The rain, the welcome rain...
Стр. 35 - Through woods and mountain passes The winds, like anthems, roll ; They are chanting solemn masses, Singing, " Pray for this poor soul, Pray, — pray!" And the hooded clouds, like friars, Tell their beads in drops of rain...
Стр. 47 - Waving his armed hand, Saw we old Hildebrand, With twenty horsemen. "Then launched they to the blast, Bent like a reed each mast, Yet we were gaining fast, When the wind failed us; And with a sudden flaw Came round the gusty Skaw,* So that our foe we saw Laugh as he hailed us. "And as to catch the gale Round veered the flapping sail, Death! was the helmsman's hail, Death without quarter!