Eliza Cook's journal, Том 6 |
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Стр. 1
... beautiful and fertile . " " Ay , a beautiful , green land , sir , but cursed- cursed in its landlords , its laws , its potatoes , and its all . We are flying from Ireland at the rate of a thousand a day , and remittances are coming into ...
... beautiful and fertile . " " Ay , a beautiful , green land , sir , but cursed- cursed in its landlords , its laws , its potatoes , and its all . We are flying from Ireland at the rate of a thousand a day , and remittances are coming into ...
Стр. 4
... beautiful . " It is indeed a beautiful land , " said a voice at my elbow ; " the people of such a country must have put themselves to great trouble to make it poor , when nature has been so bountiful towards it . " He was an English ...
... beautiful . " It is indeed a beautiful land , " said a voice at my elbow ; " the people of such a country must have put themselves to great trouble to make it poor , when nature has been so bountiful towards it . " He was an English ...
Стр. 12
... beautiful features of his beloved city , that which , during his absence , embittered most his regrets , the magnificent theatre of San Carlo , is burnt down in a night . The loss of a kingdom , or half a dozen battles , would not have ...
... beautiful features of his beloved city , that which , during his absence , embittered most his regrets , the magnificent theatre of San Carlo , is burnt down in a night . The loss of a kingdom , or half a dozen battles , would not have ...
Стр. 13
- with her basket of flowers , to the beautiful sym- phony of " Di Piacer , " the melody , which is enough to " bend the knotted oak , " was not lost upon the susceptible Milanese . The words , " Bene ! motto bene / bravo ! bravo ...
- with her basket of flowers , to the beautiful sym- phony of " Di Piacer , " the melody , which is enough to " bend the knotted oak , " was not lost upon the susceptible Milanese . The words , " Bene ! motto bene / bravo ! bravo ...
Стр. 14
the most celebrated and the most beautiful woman of Bologna ( the Princess ) also made her appearance ; here was a " terrible to - do ; " but Rossini only laughed at both , sung them a buffo aria , - " Then put on his hat , and away he ...
the most celebrated and the most beautiful woman of Bologna ( the Princess ) also made her appearance ; here was a " terrible to - do ; " but Rossini only laughed at both , sung them a buffo aria , - " Then put on his hat , and away he ...
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Bantry Bay beautiful better blackberries brother called CHARLES COOK child comfort COOK'S JOURNAL cried daughter dear dress earth ELIZA COOK'S emigrants England eyes face father feeling Fleet Street flowers Giorgione girl give Glengariff hand happy heard heart honour hope hour human husband Indian Ireland Irish John John Sterling John Waters knew labour lady land leave light Limerick living look Margaret Fuller Marie Deschamps marriage married Mary mind morning mother Munster nature never night once passed person Plato poet poor replied rich Rossini round scarcely seemed smile song soon sorrow soul South Wales spirit Street sweet tell things thou thought tion Tipperary Titian took town trees truth Tuscarora voice wife woman women wood words young
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Стр. 323 - And nights devoid of ease, Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies. Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer. Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice. And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares that infest the day, Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, And as silently steal away.
Стр. 323 - Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay. That shall soothe this restless feeling, And banish the thoughts of day. Not from the grand old masters. Not from the bards sublime. Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time.
Стр. 342 - Where the lamps quiver So far in the river, With many a light From window and casement, From garret to basement, She stood with amazement, Houseless by night. The bleak wind of March Made her tremble and shiver, But not the dark arch, Or the black flowing river ; Mad from life's history, Glad to death's mystery Swift to be hurled — Anywhere, anywhere Out of the world ! In she plunged boldly, No matter how coldly The rough river ran.
Стр. 37 - Here's flowers for you: Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram ; The marigold, that goes to bed with the sun, And with him rises, weeping; these are flowers Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age.
Стр. 128 - For want of a nail, the shoe was lost, For want of a shoe, the horse was lost, For want of a horse, the rider was lost, For want of a rider, the battle was lost.
Стр. 83 - Lines Written in Early Spring I HEARD a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man. Through primrose tufts, in that green bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.
Стр. 342 - Through muddy impurity, As when with the daring Last look of despairing Fixed on futurity. Perishing gloomily, Spurred by contumely, Cold inhumanity, Burning insanity, Into her rest, — Cross her hands humbly, As if praying dumbly, Over her breast! Owning her weakness, Her evil behaviour, And leaving, with meekness, Her sins to her Saviour!
Стр. 36 - And they answered the angel of the Lord that stood among the myrtle trees, and said, 'We have walked to and fro through the earth, and, behold, all the earth sitteth still, and is at rest.
Стр. 108 - Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Стр. 225 - The silent majesty of these deep woods, Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth, As to the sunshine and the pure, bright air Their tops the green trees lift. Hence gifted bards Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades. For them there was an eloquent voice in all The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden sun, The flowers, the leaves, the river on its way, Blue skies, and silver clouds, and gentle winds...