English poetry, for use in the schools of the Collegiate institution, Liverpool [ed. by W. J. Conybeare].1844 |
Между кориците на книгата
Резултати 1 - 5 от 7.
Страница 6
... meet that dreadful day ? When , shrivelling like a parched scroll , The flaming heavens together roll ; When louder yet , and yet more dread , Swells the high trump that wakes the dead ! Oh ! on that day , that wrathful day , When man ...
... meet that dreadful day ? When , shrivelling like a parched scroll , The flaming heavens together roll ; When louder yet , and yet more dread , Swells the high trump that wakes the dead ! Oh ! on that day , that wrathful day , When man ...
Страница 13
... meet again . " He waited not for answer there , And would not mark the maid's despair , Nor heed the discontented look From either squire ! but spurred amain , And , dashing through the battle - plain , His way to Surrey took . : - -The ...
... meet again . " He waited not for answer there , And would not mark the maid's despair , Nor heed the discontented look From either squire ! but spurred amain , And , dashing through the battle - plain , His way to Surrey took . : - -The ...
Страница 59
... meet the sun upon the upland lawn . 66 There , at the foot of yonder nodding beech , That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high , His listless length at noontide would he stretch , And pore upon the brook that babbles by . 66 Hard by ...
... meet the sun upon the upland lawn . 66 There , at the foot of yonder nodding beech , That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high , His listless length at noontide would he stretch , And pore upon the brook that babbles by . 66 Hard by ...
Страница 67
... But yield , proud foe , thy fleet , With the crews , at England's feet , And make submission meet To our king . " Then Denmark blessed our chief , That he gave her wounds repose ; And the sounds of joy and grief From her people 67.
... But yield , proud foe , thy fleet , With the crews , at England's feet , And make submission meet To our king . " Then Denmark blessed our chief , That he gave her wounds repose ; And the sounds of joy and grief From her people 67.
Страница 79
... meet him ! O Jesu ! Friend to fallen man , To me impart thy merit ; Forgive my sin , wash out its stain , By thine almighty Spirit ! The trumpet sounds — the Judge is near But then my soul , devoid of fear , Shall spring with joy to meet ...
... meet him ! O Jesu ! Friend to fallen man , To me impart thy merit ; Forgive my sin , wash out its stain , By thine almighty Spirit ! The trumpet sounds — the Judge is near But then my soul , devoid of fear , Shall spring with joy to meet ...
Често срещани думи и фрази
amain arms array Arth battle beneath BISHOP KEN Blount Branksome Branksome Hall brave breath bright brow cease from troubling chase cheer Clare Clusium crest cried dark dead deep DIES iræ dread dust earth England's Eustace eyes fair Father fierce fight fire Fitz-Eustace Flodden foes gallant glory grave hall hand Hark hast hath head hear heard heart heaven heavenly host helmet of Navarre Henry of Navarre hill Holy Horatius horse host Hubert HYMN Janiculum King Lars Porsena Lartius light little prince lonely look Lord Marmion loud Mayenne Moncontour morn mountain ne'er Netherby never night o'er plain Praise rein rest rill rode rose Saint SCOTT SHAKSPERE shore shout sigh sing Skiddaw slain sleep smile song soul sound spears spirit squire stag steed tear thee thine Thou art gone Tiber toil tower voice wake weep wicked cease young Lochinvar
Популярни откъси
Страница 30 - Changed his hand, and check'd his pride. He chose a mournful muse, Soft pity to infuse: He sung Darius great and good! ~By too severe a fate, Fallen! fallen! fallen! fallen! Fallen from his high estate, And weltering in his blood!
Страница 6 - That day of wrath, that dreadful day, When heaven and earth shall pass away, What power shall be the sinner's stay? How shall he meet that dreadful day? When, shrivelling like a parched scroll, The flaming heavens together roll, When louder yet, and yet more dread, Swells the high trump that wakes the dead ! O, on that day, that wrathful day, When man to judgment wakes from clay, Be THOU the trembling sinner's stay, Though heaven and earth shall pass away!
Страница 57 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke...
Страница 59 - E'en in our Ashes live their wonted Fires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, Haply some hoary-headed Swain may say, 'Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
Страница 1 - The way was long, the wind was cold, The Minstrel was infirm and old; His withered cheek, and tresses gray, Seemed to have known a better day; The harp, his sole remaining joy, Was carried by an orphan boy.
Страница 70 - NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried.
Страница 70 - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head; And we far away on the billow! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him; But little he'll reck; if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
Страница 57 - Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood; Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. Th...
Страница 61 - On a rock, whose haughty brow, Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the Poet stood ; (Loose his beard, and hoary hair Streamed, like a meteor, to the troubled air) And with a Master's hand, and Prophet's fire, Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.
Страница 6 - HERON'S SONG. O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best, And save his good broadsword he weapons had none ; He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.