The Classic and the Beautiful from the Literature of Three Thousand Years, Том 1

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Henry Coppée
Carson & Simpson, 1900

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Стр. 104 - At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorned the venerable place; Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray.
Стр. 379 - The judicial power shall extend to all cases in law and equity arising under the constitution, the laws of the United States, and treaties made, or which shall be made, under their authority...
Стр. 105 - Yet he was kind; or, if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault; The village all declared how much he knew; 'Twas certain he could write, and cipher too; Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, And even the story ran that he could gauge...
Стр. 311 - All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits, and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms; And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel, And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school: And then, the lover; Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress...
Стр. 390 - I'll not leave thee, thou lone one, To pine on the stem : Since the lovely are sleeping, Go sleep thou with them. Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves o'er the bed Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead.
Стр. 103 - The sober herd that lowed to meet their young, The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school...
Стр. 101 - The dancing pair that simply sought renown, By holding out to tire each other down; The swain mistrustless of his smutted face, While secret laughter tittered round the place; The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, The matron's glance that would those looks reprove.
Стр. 273 - WISH MINE be a cot beside the hill ; A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear; A willowy brook, that turns a mill, With many a fall shall linger near. The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch, Shall twitter from her clay-built nest; Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, And share my meal, a welcome guest.
Стр. 465 - Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is; What if my leaves are falling like its own! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one! Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!
Стр. 321 - Was this the face that launched a thousand ships And burnt the topless towers of Ilium ?— Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss. Her lips suck forth my soul : see, where it flies! Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again. Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips, And all is dross that is not Helena.

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