Poetic gems: partly original; but chiefly selected from the best authors: by S. BlackburnG. Dennis, 1833 - 240 من الصفحات |
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الصفحة 5
... a tiny boy , My days and nights were full of joy , My mates were blythe and kind ! No wonder that I sometimes sigh , And dash the tear - drop from my eye , To cast a look behind ! A hoop was an eternal round Of pleasure . In 5.
... a tiny boy , My days and nights were full of joy , My mates were blythe and kind ! No wonder that I sometimes sigh , And dash the tear - drop from my eye , To cast a look behind ! A hoop was an eternal round Of pleasure . In 5.
الصفحة 7
... sigh : - On this I will not dwell and hang ; The changeling would not feel a pang Though this should meet his eye . No skies so blue or so serene As then ; -no leaves look half so green , As cloth'd the play - ground tree ! All things I ...
... sigh : - On this I will not dwell and hang ; The changeling would not feel a pang Though this should meet his eye . No skies so blue or so serene As then ; -no leaves look half so green , As cloth'd the play - ground tree ! All things I ...
الصفحة 9
... sigh , And dash the tear - drop from my eye , To cast a look behind . T. Hood . SOLILOQUY OF A WATER - WAGTAIL , ( On the Walls of York Castle . ) On the walls that guard my prison , Swelling with fantastic pride , Brisk and merry as ...
... sigh , And dash the tear - drop from my eye , To cast a look behind . T. Hood . SOLILOQUY OF A WATER - WAGTAIL , ( On the Walls of York Castle . ) On the walls that guard my prison , Swelling with fantastic pride , Brisk and merry as ...
الصفحة 16
... sigh'd o'er the warrior's grave . He hath soar'd where the wild vultures tire , He hath moan'd where the meadow - grass grows , He hath torn up the woods in his ire , He hath ruffled the leaves of the rose . O , who can arrest his ...
... sigh'd o'er the warrior's grave . He hath soar'd where the wild vultures tire , He hath moan'd where the meadow - grass grows , He hath torn up the woods in his ire , He hath ruffled the leaves of the rose . O , who can arrest his ...
الصفحة 23
... sigh , And hopeful blossoms , turning pale , Upon her bosom die ; Ere April seeks another place , And ends her reign in this , She leaves us with as fair a face As e'er gave birth to bliss . THE DEAD . NUMBER the grains of sand out ...
... sigh , And hopeful blossoms , turning pale , Upon her bosom die ; Ere April seeks another place , And ends her reign in this , She leaves us with as fair a face As e'er gave birth to bliss . THE DEAD . NUMBER the grains of sand out ...
طبعات أخرى - عرض جميع المقتطفات
عبارات ومصطلحات مألوفة
age to age Anon art thou beauty beneath blessed bliss bloom bosom breast breath bright Cambyses charm cheerful child clouds COLCHESTER cold cried crimson-tipped dark dead dear death delight dread E'en earth fair fancy father fear feel flowers gaz'd Gelert glory grave green grief hand happy hast hath hear heard heart heaven hope hour hush'd kiss kiss of love learned friend life's light lonely look look'd lov'd lyre morning mother mountain Nature's ne'er never night o'er pale pass'd paths of glory peace pleasure poor rill rock round scene seem'd seraph shade shadows roll shine sigh silent skies sleep slumber smile song soon sorrow soul sound spirit stars stream sweet tears tell tempest Thebes thee thine thou thought to-morrow tomb tree truth Twas Twill voice wandering wild wind wings young youth
مقاطع مشهورة
الصفحة 108 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn Or busy housewife ply her evening care : No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; How jocund did they drive their team afield ! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and...
الصفحة 72 - 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 ! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But little hell reck if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him...
الصفحة 233 - The man whose eye Is ever on himself doth look on one, The least of Nature's works, one who might move The wise man to that scorn which wisdom holds Unlawful, ever.
الصفحة 111 - The next with dirges due in sad array Slow thro' the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the lay, Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
الصفحة 142 - Tempe's vale, her native maids, Amidst the festal sounding shades, To some unwearied minstrel dancing, While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round ; Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound : And he, amidst his frolic play, As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.
الصفحة 236 - I care not, fortune, what you me deny ; You cannot rob me of free nature's grace ; You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shows her brightening face, You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve : Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, And I their toys to the great children leave : Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave.
الصفحة 234 - THE way was long, the wind was cold, The Minstrel was infirm and old; His withered cheek, and tresses gray, Seemed to have known a better day ; The harp, his sole remaining joy, Was carried by an orphan boy. The last of all the Bards was he, Who sung of, Border chivalry; For, well-a-day!
الصفحة 145 - MUMMY (AT BELZONI'S EXHIBITION) Horace Smith And thou hast walked about (how strange a story!) In Thebes's streets three thousand years ago. When the Memnonium was in all its glory, And time had not begun to overthrow Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous, Of which the very ruins are tremendous.
الصفحة 110 - Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; Along the cool sequester'd vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
الصفحة 109 - The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village Hampden that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton, here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. Th...