The Eton Bureau, Броеве 1–6Ingalton and Son, 1842 |
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Страница 9
... light enough . " " A Dacre ! A Dacre ! " cried John Mantell ; " by the rood , a most gallant thought ! What think ye ? " turning to the others . 66 Why , " said George Roidon , " that I will e'en give up my turret chamber for it ; such ...
... light enough . " " A Dacre ! A Dacre ! " cried John Mantell ; " by the rood , a most gallant thought ! What think ye ? " turning to the others . 66 Why , " said George Roidon , " that I will e'en give up my turret chamber for it ; such ...
Страница 12
... light for their purpose . Dacre , though gentlemen of that age were no great admirers of scenery , could not help being struck by the night view . Lord " I ' faith , Cheney , " he said , " a limner's skill might make somewhat of this ...
... light for their purpose . Dacre , though gentlemen of that age were no great admirers of scenery , could not help being struck by the night view . Lord " I ' faith , Cheney , " he said , " a limner's skill might make somewhat of this ...
Страница 13
... light was far more steady than before . " I would fain , " said Lord Dacre , " have brought our servants with us ; the night is clear , and Pelham's rangers will have a right goodly view of us , should they at all cross our path . ” 66 ...
... light was far more steady than before . " I would fain , " said Lord Dacre , " have brought our servants with us ; the night is clear , and Pelham's rangers will have a right goodly view of us , should they at all cross our path . ” 66 ...
Страница 17
... light ; A Spirit of ages , buried , and gone , Sheds o'er my senses weary , and lone , A sweet , reviving potion . Then , rambling sadly thro ' History's page , She sings of the warrior , poet , and sage With a thrilling , wild emotion ...
... light ; A Spirit of ages , buried , and gone , Sheds o'er my senses weary , and lone , A sweet , reviving potion . Then , rambling sadly thro ' History's page , She sings of the warrior , poet , and sage With a thrilling , wild emotion ...
Страница 18
... light sky - born gift worth waiting for , Calm duteous patience I may learn and feel . THOUGHTS ON EMULATION . " Suis te oportet illecebris ipsa virtus trahat ad verum decus . " - CICERO . The existence , whether recognized or not , of ...
... light sky - born gift worth waiting for , Calm duteous patience I may learn and feel . THOUGHTS ON EMULATION . " Suis te oportet illecebris ipsa virtus trahat ad verum decus . " - CICERO . The existence , whether recognized or not , of ...
Често срещани думи и фрази
Æneid Apollonius Rhodius barque beauty better breath bright Burton calm castle Catullus character charm child clouds dare dark dear death doth earth Eton Bureau Etonians evil eyes fair faith fancy fear feelings gaze gentle George Morland Georgics give grace grave Gwendolen hand happy hath heard heart heaven Herstmonceux holy honour hope King knew Ladon leave light live look Lord Byron Lord Dacre Lycophron Menedemus mind nature never night o'er once passed perhaps Phormio poet poor prayer Procles Puddletown readers round scarce scene scorn seemed shame shew shuffler sigh similes smile soft song sorrow soul spirit stream sure sweet tears tell thee things thou thought told TOMMY GREEN truth Unterwalden verse Virgil waves wind Windsor Castle words write young youth
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Страница 316 - When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste...
Страница 274 - MAN, that is born of a woman, hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down like a flower ; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay.
Страница 229 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things : There is no armour against fate : Death lays his icy hands on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Страница 267 - A THING of beauty is a joy for ever : Its loveliness increases ; it will never Pass into nothingness ; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Страница 187 - Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
Страница 143 - Of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth; Let's choose executors and talk of wills : And yet not so — for what can we bequeath Save our deposed bodies to the ground? Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's, And nothing can we call our own but death, And that small model of the barren earth...
Страница 265 - Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me : the brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to invent any thing that tends to laughter*, more than I invent, or is invented on me : I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men.
Страница 335 - THE POET'S SONG. THE rain had fallen, the Poet arose, He pass'd by the town and out of the street, A light wind blew from the gates of the sun, And waves of shadow went over the wheat, And he sat him down in a lonely place, And chanted a melody loud and sweet, That made the wild-swan pause in her cloud, And the lark drop down at his feet.
Страница 229 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill : But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow; Then boast no more your mighty deeds! Upon Death's purple altar now See where the victor-victim bleeds. Your heads must come To the cold tomb: Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom...
Страница 114 - The youth, he cried, whom I exiled Shall be restored to woo her. She's at the window many an hour His coming to discover: And he look'd up to Ellen's bower And she look'd on her lover — But ah! so pale, he knew her not, Though her smile on him was dwelling — And am I then forgot — forgot? It broke the heart of Ellen. In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs, Her...