Alan Annabel Lee ball beautiful better born brother Cæsar called chalk cried dark dead door Duncan Dhu earth England English extract eyes Fair father feet fire fleet friends gave George Eliot give goal hand head hear heard heart heaven HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ Hepzibah Hervé Riel James Russell Lowell John JOHN BUNYAN JOHN GAY King land literature living look Lord MacGregor Maggie mind morning nature never night o'er old Brooke Oliver Goldsmith parchment passed Pilgrim's Progress play players-up poem poet poetry river Rob Roy Robin rock Rome round rush Saint Malo school-house scrummage seemed side stood story sweet tell thee things Thomas Babington Macaulay thou thought tion town trees turned unto Vanity village wind wood words writing wrote young Brooke Zoetermeer Zoeterwoude
Стр. 281 - O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly, at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him, But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.
Стр. 138 - WHEN Freedom from her mountain height Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night. And set the stars of glory there. She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies, And striped its pure celestial white With streakings of the morning light; Then from his mansion in the sun She called her eagle bearer down, And gave into his mighty hand The symbol of her chosen land.
Стр. 185 - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild ; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place.
Стр. 282 - With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow. We thought as we hollowed his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow.
Стр. 396 - Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land ? Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned, From wandering on a foreign strand...
Стр. 490 - twill cost a sigh, a tear ; Then steal away, give little warning, Choose thine own time ; Say not good-night, but in some brighter clime Bid me "Good-morning.
Стр. 259 - So flash'd and fell the brand Excalibur : But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, And caught him by the hilt, and brandish'd him Three times, and drew him under in the mere.
Стр. 98 - And the younger of them said to his father, Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me. And he divided unto them his living.
Стр. 494 - To hear the lark begin his flight, And singing startle the dull night, From his watch-tower in the skies, Till the dappled dawn doth rise...
Стр. 434 - Saturn, quiet as a stone, Still as the silence round about his lair; Forest on forest hung about his head Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there, Not so much life as on a summer's day Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass, But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest.