Poems of Places Oceana 1 V.; England 4; Scotland 3 V: Iceland, Switzerland, Greece, Russia, Asia, 3 America 5, Том 6 |
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Стр. 28
... weary haunt for me , All alone on Airly Beacon , With his baby on my knee ! Charles Kingsley . Allan Water . BY ALLAN STREAM I CHANCED TO ROVE . Y Allan stream I chanced to rove , BY While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi ; The winds were ...
... weary haunt for me , All alone on Airly Beacon , With his baby on my knee ! Charles Kingsley . Allan Water . BY ALLAN STREAM I CHANCED TO ROVE . Y Allan stream I chanced to rove , BY While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi ; The winds were ...
Стр. 46
... weary steps I wander . The langsome way , the darksome day , The mountain mist sae rainy , Are naught to me when gaun to thee , Sweet lass o ' Arranteenie . Yon mossy rosebud down the howe , Just opening fresh and bonny , Blinks sweetly ...
... weary steps I wander . The langsome way , the darksome day , The mountain mist sae rainy , Are naught to me when gaun to thee , Sweet lass o ' Arranteenie . Yon mossy rosebud down the howe , Just opening fresh and bonny , Blinks sweetly ...
Стр. 52
... weary , hopeless swain was I , To languish in a sunny glade , To aid the zephyr with a sigh , And gie each flower a sombre shade . Exulting through the woods I strayed , Through mony a brier and rosy maze ; Or watched where shimmering ...
... weary , hopeless swain was I , To languish in a sunny glade , To aid the zephyr with a sigh , And gie each flower a sombre shade . Exulting through the woods I strayed , Through mony a brier and rosy maze ; Or watched where shimmering ...
Стр. 65
... weariness and woe ; You faltered , and God heard you sing , Then touched your hand and led you so , You found life's hill - top low , so low , You crossed its summit long ere noon . Thus sooner than one would suppose Some weary feet ...
... weariness and woe ; You faltered , and God heard you sing , Then touched your hand and led you so , You found life's hill - top low , so low , You crossed its summit long ere noon . Thus sooner than one would suppose Some weary feet ...
Стр. 69
... weary winter's wind and rain , With joy , with rapture , I would toil , And nightly to my bosom strain The bonnie lass o ' Ballochmyle . Then pride might climb the slippery steep , Where fame and honors lofty shine ; And thirst of gold ...
... weary winter's wind and rain , With joy , with rapture , I would toil , And nightly to my bosom strain The bonnie lass o ' Ballochmyle . Then pride might climb the slippery steep , Where fame and honors lofty shine ; And thirst of gold ...
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Poems of Places Oceana 1 V. ; England 4; Scotland 3 V: Iceland ..., Том 9 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Недоступно для просмотра - 2016 |
Часто встречающиеся слова и выражения
Airly Beacon amang Auchtertool auld Ballochmyle banks of Ayr Ben Lomond beneath Bennachie birds birks birks of Aberfeldy Blaavin blithe bloom blue bonnie Doon bonnie lass bonny wood bosom bower braes Branksome Hall brave breast BRIG bright Carmyle Castle Charlie clouds Clyde Coquet Water corri Craig Elachie Craigcrook Craigcrook Roses Craigie Lea Cutty-sark dark David Macbeth Moir dear deep Doon dream fair Farewell flowers frae Gadie rins gleaming glen gray green ha'e heart heaven Highland land lassie Lochiel Lomond lone loud Mary mony morn mountain mourn mournfully ne'er night o'er pale proud River roar Robert Burns Robert Tannahill rock round sang scene shade shore sing Sir Walter Scott smile Stand fast stood stray stream summer sweet sword thee thine Thou bonny torrents towers tree vale wander wave weary Whare wild William Wordsworth wind wood of Craigie
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Стр. 187 - She should have died hereafter; There would have been a time for such a word. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death.
Стр. 45 - O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasp'd her to my bosom ! The golden hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my dearie; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace Our parting was fu' tender; And pledging aft to meet again, We tore oursels asunder; But, Oh!
Стр. 46 - Mary ! dear departed shade ! Where is thy place of blissful rest ? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast...
Стр. iii - From wandering on a foreign strand ? If such there breathe, go mark him well : For him no minstrel raptures swell ; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ; Despite those titles, power and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonored and unsung.
Стр. ix - Come away, come away, Hark to the summons! Come in your war- array, Gentles and commons. Come from deep glen, and From mountain so rocky; The war-pipe and pennon Are at Inverlochy. Come every hill-plaid, and True heart that wears one, Come every steel blade, and Strong hand that bears one.
Стр. 155 - Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down! Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain.
Стр. x - MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS. MY heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here ; My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer ; Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
Стр. 25 - SHANTER: A TALE Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this buke. — GAWIN DOUGLAS. When chapman billies leave the street, And drouthy neebors neebors meet, As market-days are wearing late, An' folk begin to tak the gate, While we sit bousing at the nappy, An...
Стр. 30 - Tam wi' furious ettle ; But little wist she Maggie's mettle — Ae spring brought off her master hale, But left behind her ain gray tail : The carlin claught her by the rump, And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. Now, wha this tale o...
Стр. iii - BREATHES there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land ? Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned From wandering on a foreign strand...