The English Poets: Selections with Critical Introductions by Various Writers and a General Introduction, Том 3Macmillan, 1881 |
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Страница 12
... tell the signs by which you may The wandering shepherdess discover . Coquet and coy at once her air , Both studied , though both seem neglected ; Careless she is with artful care , Affecting to seem unaffected . With skill her eyes dart ...
... tell the signs by which you may The wandering shepherdess discover . Coquet and coy at once her air , Both studied , though both seem neglected ; Careless she is with artful care , Affecting to seem unaffected . With skill her eyes dart ...
Страница 14
... tell the doubtful day : Dim he discerns majestic Atlas rise , And bend beneath the burden of the skies ; His towering brows aloft no tempests know , Whilst lightning flies , and thunder rolls below . Distant from hence beyond a waste of ...
... tell the doubtful day : Dim he discerns majestic Atlas rise , And bend beneath the burden of the skies ; His towering brows aloft no tempests know , Whilst lightning flies , and thunder rolls below . Distant from hence beyond a waste of ...
Страница 21
... tell , Dear five years old befriends my passion , And I may write till she can spell . For , while she makes her silk - worms beds With all the tender things I swear ; Whilst all the house my passion reads , In papers round her baby's ...
... tell , Dear five years old befriends my passion , And I may write till she can spell . For , while she makes her silk - worms beds With all the tender things I swear ; Whilst all the house my passion reads , In papers round her baby's ...
Страница 22
... tell your parting lover , You wish fair winds may waft him over . Alas ! what winds can happy prove , That bear me far from what I love ? Alas ! what dangers on the main Can equal those that I sustain , From slighted vows , and cold ...
... tell your parting lover , You wish fair winds may waft him over . Alas ! what winds can happy prove , That bear me far from what I love ? Alas ! what dangers on the main Can equal those that I sustain , From slighted vows , and cold ...
Страница 51
... tell the queen , The queen , so gracious , mild , and good , Cries , ' Is he gone ! ' tis time he should . He's dead , you say ; then let him rot : I'm glad the medals were forgot . ' I promised him , I own ; but when ? I only was the ...
... tell the queen , The queen , so gracious , mild , and good , Cries , ' Is he gone ! ' tis time he should . He's dead , you say ; then let him rot : I'm glad the medals were forgot . ' I promised him , I own ; but when ? I only was the ...
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Често срещани думи и фрази
Addison admiration Ambrose Philips beauty beneath Birks of Aberfeldy blest born breast breath Burns charm Chatterton criticism dear death delight Dryden Dunciad e'er Eclogues English English poetry Epistle Ev'n ev'ry eyes fair fame fate feel fool frae genius GEORGE SAINTSBURY grace Gratius Faliscus grave Gray Grongar Hill hand happy hear heart heaven Horace Walpole kings labour literary live Lord Lord Hervey mind moral muse nature ne'er never night numbers nymph o'er once pain passion perhaps Pindaric pleasure poem poet poet's poetical poetry Pope Pope's praise pride prose rhyme rise round satire sense shade shine sing smile song soul spirit Spleen sweet Swift taste tear tell thee things thou thought thro toil trembling truth turns Twas verse virtue Whig wind wise write youth
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Страница 263 - Other refuge have I none — Hangs my helpless soul on Thee : Leave, ah ! leave me not alone, Still support and comfort me ! , All my trust on Thee is stay'd, All my help from Thee I bring: Cover my defenceless head With the shadow of thy wing.
Страница 288 - O'erhang his wavy bed: Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, Or where the beetle winds His small but sullen horn, As oft he rises, 'midst the twilight path Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum...
Страница 262 - Lover of my soul, Let me to Thy bosom fly, While the nearer waters roll, While the tempest still is high; Hide me, O my Saviour, hide, Till the storm of life is past; Safe into the haven guide, O receive my soul at last.
Страница 478 - I will obey, not willingly alone, But gladly, as the precept were her own ; And, while that face renews my filial grief, Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief, Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, A momentary dream that thou art she.
Страница 464 - Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And while the bubbling and loud hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer but not inebriate wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
Страница 335 - Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.' THE EPITAPH Here rests his head upon the lap of earth A youth to fortune and to fame unknown: Fair science frowned not on his humble birth, And melancholy marked him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, . Heaven did a recompense as largely send: He gave to misery all he had, a tear: He gained from heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend.
Страница 562 - Ye banks and braes and streams around The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie ! There simmer first unfauld her robes, And there the langest tarry ; For there I took the last fareweel 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...
Страница 373 - How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree...
Страница 375 - Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, Remembrance wakes with all her busy train, Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs - and God has given my share...
Страница 483 - Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, Are still more lovely in my sight Than golden beams of orient light, My Mary ! For, could I view nor them nor thee, What sight worth seeing could I see ? The sun would rise in vain for me, My Mary ! Partakers of thy sad decline, Thy hands their little force resign ; Yet gently prest, press gently mine, My Mary!