The Eton Bureau, Броеве 1–6Ingalton and Son, 1842 |
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Страница 17
... tear ! Farewell ! a sad , and bitter token Of shatter'd hope , and promise broken ! Farewell ! I can no more dissemble : The spell is o'er - this voice doth tremble ! Then life , and health , and thanks be thine ! I will not at my fate ...
... tear ! Farewell ! a sad , and bitter token Of shatter'd hope , and promise broken ! Farewell ! I can no more dissemble : The spell is o'er - this voice doth tremble ! Then life , and health , and thanks be thine ! I will not at my fate ...
Страница 50
... tears which burst down her cheeks ; " with this day ends the light of my life for ever . Thy sun is put out in blood ; one half of my soul is torn from me ; why should I , the other , remain ? Would I could follow thee ! " " We shall ...
... tears which burst down her cheeks ; " with this day ends the light of my life for ever . Thy sun is put out in blood ; one half of my soul is torn from me ; why should I , the other , remain ? Would I could follow thee ! " " We shall ...
Страница 54
... tears express " The pains of such mute happiness . - " Ho , Ladon ! -what ! thou too dismayed " At this portentous spectacle ? " I charge thee , sirrah ! straightly tell , " Whether till now the boy bewrayed " Tokens of this impiety ...
... tears express " The pains of such mute happiness . - " Ho , Ladon ! -what ! thou too dismayed " At this portentous spectacle ? " I charge thee , sirrah ! straightly tell , " Whether till now the boy bewrayed " Tokens of this impiety ...
Страница 63
... tears . Perhaps the burthen of some song , him joy , Learnt when a trifle gave Has waked an echo loud and long Of the once careless happy boy : It tells how on his father's knee He heard sweet tales of by - gone years ; Ah ! could he ...
... tears . Perhaps the burthen of some song , him joy , Learnt when a trifle gave Has waked an echo loud and long Of the once careless happy boy : It tells how on his father's knee He heard sweet tales of by - gone years ; Ah ! could he ...
Страница 74
... tears o'erflow ? And why so sad her heart ? Her lover ere long to the wars must go ; ' Tis hard so soon to part . 2 . " Tis the breath of early morn That is wafted on the wind ; Sir Raymond to the wars has gone , With a blithesome train ...
... tears o'erflow ? And why so sad her heart ? Her lover ere long to the wars must go ; ' Tis hard so soon to part . 2 . " Tis the breath of early morn That is wafted on the wind ; Sir Raymond to the wars has gone , With a blithesome train ...
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...