Choice Literature: For Grammar Grades, Книга 2American Book Company, 1898 |
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Страница 21
... blood twisted in and out of the planks with every pitch of the vessel . The ceiling , damaged in sev- The whole ship was filled with eral places , began to gape . the awful tumult . The captain promptly recovered his composure , and ...
... blood twisted in and out of the planks with every pitch of the vessel . The ceiling , damaged in sev- The whole ship was filled with eral places , began to gape . the awful tumult . The captain promptly recovered his composure , and ...
Страница 31
... blood - like stains , that jewel - like vegetation , and at the end that crypt , almost a sanctuary , and that stone which was almost an altar . He had not taken much notice of these details ; but he car- ried the general effect in his ...
... blood - like stains , that jewel - like vegetation , and at the end that crypt , almost a sanctuary , and that stone which was almost an altar . He had not taken much notice of these details ; but he car- ried the general effect in his ...
Страница 32
... blood . A third thong undulated outside the rock , felt of Gilliatt , and lashed his sides like a cord . It fixed itself there . Anguish is mute when at its highest point . Gilliatt did not utter a cry . There was light enough for him ...
... blood . A third thong undulated outside the rock , felt of Gilliatt , and lashed his sides like a cord . It fixed itself there . Anguish is mute when at its highest point . Gilliatt did not utter a cry . There was light enough for him ...
Страница 36
... blood sucker . " In the Channel Islands it is called the pieuvre . It is very rare in Guernsey , very small in Jersey , very large and quite frequent in Sark . A print from Sonnini's edition of Buffon represents an octopus crushing a ...
... blood sucker . " In the Channel Islands it is called the pieuvre . It is very rare in Guernsey , very small in Jersey , very large and quite frequent in Sark . A print from Sonnini's edition of Buffon represents an octopus crushing a ...
Страница 37
... blood , it has no flesh . It is flabby . There is nothing in it . It is a skin . One can turn its eight tentacles wrong side out , like the fingers of a glove . It has a single orifice in the center of its radiation . Is this one hole ...
... blood , it has no flesh . It is flabby . There is nothing in it . It is a skin . One can turn its eight tentacles wrong side out , like the fingers of a glove . It has a single orifice in the center of its radiation . Is this one hole ...
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Alba Longa ALFRED TENNYSON Alice Cary Antony arms army Bass Bassanio battle Battle of Waterloo beneath blood blow Blücher Boisberthelot born breast breath Brutus Cæsar cannon carronade Casca Cassius cavalry clouds Clusium cuirassiers dark dead death deck doth earth English Exeunt eyes father fear fire Genappe Gilliatt gunner hand hast hath head hear heard heart heaven honor Horatius horse hundred Lars Porsena Laun light live look lord loud Mark Antony Napoleon never night noble o'er octopus poems Portia pray PUPIL rain Ramoth ring Roman Rome round sabers sail seemed shadow ship Shylock side smile soul sound speak spirit stand stood sweet sword tell thee thine THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY thou thought thousand Titinius Toussaint L'Ouverture turned VICTOR HUGO voice waves weather wild wind
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Страница 250 - 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.
Страница 328 - Love thyself last : cherish those hearts that hate thee ; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's ; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr.
Страница 253 - 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.
Страница 326 - What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now forever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind.
Страница 194 - Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise!
Страница 163 - Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light: The year is dying in the night; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow: The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true.
Страница 124 - This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, Sails the unshadowed main — The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings, And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair. Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; • Wrecked is the ship of pearl! And every chambered cell, Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell, Before thee lies revealed —...
Страница 465 - Who is here so base that would be a bondman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude that would not be a Roman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so vile that will not love his country? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply.
Страница 252 - E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, 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...
Страница 331 - Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride At length broke under me, and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye ; I feel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes...