Songs of Three CenturiesJohn Greenleaf Whittier J.R. Osgood, 1875 - Всего страниц: 352 |
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Стр. 7
... waves , and keeps her course aright ; Ne ought for tempest doth from it depart , Ne ought for fairer weather's false de- light . Such self - assurance need not fear the spite Of LAMENT FOR ASTROPHEL (SIR PHILIP SIDNEY) ANGELIC MINISTRY ...
... waves , and keeps her course aright ; Ne ought for tempest doth from it depart , Ne ought for fairer weather's false de- light . Such self - assurance need not fear the spite Of LAMENT FOR ASTROPHEL (SIR PHILIP SIDNEY) ANGELIC MINISTRY ...
Стр. 11
... waves , From leaping of the trout ; The salmon from their creels and caves Come gliding in and out . O sure it were a seemly thing , While all is still and calm , The praise of God to play and sing , With trumpet and with shalm ! All ...
... waves , From leaping of the trout ; The salmon from their creels and caves Come gliding in and out . O sure it were a seemly thing , While all is still and calm , The praise of God to play and sing , With trumpet and with shalm ! All ...
Стр. 15
... wave my mind can toss ; I brook that is another's bane . I fear no foe , nor fawn on friend ; I loathe not life , nor dread mine end . I joy not in no earthly bliss ; I weigh not Croesus ' wealth a straw ; For care , I care not what it ...
... wave my mind can toss ; I brook that is another's bane . I fear no foe , nor fawn on friend ; I loathe not life , nor dread mine end . I joy not in no earthly bliss ; I weigh not Croesus ' wealth a straw ; For care , I care not what it ...
Стр. 19
... waves , Over the fountains , And under the graves , Under floods which are deepest , Which Neptune obey , Over rocks which are steepest , Love will find out the way . Where there is no place For the glow - worm to lie , Where there is ...
... waves , Over the fountains , And under the graves , Under floods which are deepest , Which Neptune obey , Over rocks which are steepest , Love will find out the way . Where there is no place For the glow - worm to lie , Where there is ...
Стр. 25
... waves our panting breasts , Where never storms arise , Exchange ; and be awhile our guests : For stars , gaze on our eyes . The compass , love shall hourly sing , And , as he goes about the ring , We will not miss To tell each point he ...
... waves our panting breasts , Where never storms arise , Exchange ; and be awhile our guests : For stars , gaze on our eyes . The compass , love shall hourly sing , And , as he goes about the ring , We will not miss To tell each point he ...
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angels beauty BEGONE DULL CARE bells beneath bird blessed bliss bonnie Braes breast breath bright busk calm Christabel clouds dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth EDMUND SPENSER Edom eternal eyes face fair fear flowers frae Glenlogie glory golden grace grave green Grongar Hill hand hast hath hear heard heart heaven hill holy hour Hymn Inchcape Rock JOHN BYROM Kilmeny kiss lady land lassie light live Lochaber lonely look Lord maun mind morning mourn ne'er never night o'er praise rest rose round Saint Agnes SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE scorn shade shine shore sigh sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars sweet tears tell thee thine thou art thought tree unto vale voice wandering waves weary weel ween weep wild WILLIAM SHENSTONE wind wings Yarrow
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Стр. 125 - But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail ; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
Стр. 66 - Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side; But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all: And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Стр. 209 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Стр. 30 - GOING TO THE WARS Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
Стр. 125 - For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
Стр. 160 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags Plying her needle and thread — Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! In poverty, hunger and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, Would that its tone could reach the rich ! She sang this "Song of the Shirt.
Стр. 223 - Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea,
Стр. 37 - The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
Стр. 97 - No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng, The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep, And all the earth is gay...
Стр. 223 - Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn!