Carmina collegensia: a complete collection of the songs of the American colleges, with selections from the student songs of the English and German universities and popular songs adapted to college singing

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Henry Randall Waite
O. Ditson & Company, 1876 - Всего страниц: 369

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Стр. 73 - And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted — nevermore!
Стр. 73 - Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow — vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore, For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore: Nameless here for evermore.
Стр. 21 - Dark lowers the tempest overhead, The roaring torrent is deep and wide!' And loud that clarion voice replied. Excelsior! 'O stay,' the maiden said, 'and rest Thy weary head upon this breast!
Стр. 145 - Hey, diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, The cow jumped over the moon. The little dog laughed to see such sport, And the dish ran away with the spoon!
Стр. 78 - Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home ! A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere. Home ! home ! sweet, sweet home ! There's no place like home : there's no place like home.
Стр. 81 - Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming, Whose broad stripes and bright stars, thro' the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?
Стр. 77 - Cut off from the land that bore us, Betrayed by the land we find, When the brightest have gone before us, And the dullest are most behind — Stand, stand to your glasses, steady!
Стр. 31 - OLD Mother Hubbard Went to the cupboard, To get her poor dog a bone: But when she got there The cupboard was bare, And so the poor dog had none.
Стр. 21 - A traveller, by the faithful hound, Half buried in the snow was found, Still grasping in his hand of ice That banner with the strange device, Excelsior ! There in the twilight cold and gray, Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, And from the sky, serene and far, A voice fell, like a falling star, Excelsior ! POEMS ON SLAVERY.
Стр. 77 - Who dreads to the dust returning? Who shrinks from the sable shore, Where the high and haughty yearning Of the soul can sting no more? No, stand to your glasses, steady! The world is a world of lies: A cup to the dead already — And hurrah for the next that dies!

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