By-paths in the Balkans

˹
Chapman & Hall, Limited, 1906 - 269 ˹
0 Ԩó
Google Ǩͺ ǨһШй͡;
 

Դ繨ҡ - ¹Ԩó

辺Ԩó 觢ŷ

Ѻ - ٷ

շ辺

˹ 81 - Trust not for freedom to the Franks They have a king who buys and sells; In native swords, and native ranks, The only hope of courage dwells: But Turkish force, and Latin fraud, Would break your shield, however broad.
˹ 195 - No, indeed, for God above Is great to grant, as mighty to make ; And creates the love to reward the love : I claim you still, for my own love's sake...
˹ 37 - To their fathers and mothers having risen Out of some subterraneous prison Into which they were trepanned Long time ago in a mighty band Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land, But how or why, they don't understand.
˹ iii - I would essay as I have sung to sing. Yet, though a dreary strain, to this I cling So that it wean me from the weary dream Of selfish grief or gladness so it fling Forgetfulness around me it shall seem To me, though to none else, a not ungrateful theme.
˹ 175 - How came they here ? What burst of Christian hate, What persecution, merciless and blind, Drove o'er the sea that desert desolate These Ishmaels and Hagars of mankind...
˹ 175 - Taught in the school of patience to endure The life of anguish and the death of fire. All their lives long, with the unleavened bread And bitter herbs of exile and its fears, The wasting famine of the heart they fed, And slaked its thirst with Marah of their tears.
˹ 3 - We sit on hills our childhood wist, Woods, hamlets, streams, beholding : The sun strikes through the farthest mist, The city's spire to golden : The city's golden spire it was, When hope and health were strongest, But now it is the churchyard grass We look upon the longest. Be pitiful, O God ! And soon all vision waxeth dull ; Men whisper, " He is dying : " We cry no more " Be pitiful ! " We have no strength for crying.
˹ 115 - She is singing an air that is known to me, A passionate ballad gallant and gay, A martial song like a trumpet's call! Singing alone in the morning of life, In the happy morning of life and of May, Singing of men that in battle array, Ready in heart and ready in hand, March with banner and bugle and fife To the death, for their native land.
˹ 75 - Must I think? " Love 's so different with us men ! " He should smile: " Dying for my sake "White and pink! " Can't we touch these bubbles then "But they break?
˹ 19 - Tis because my life has grown to keep for you All the hours that sorrow does not claim. All the hours when I may steal away to you, Where you lie alone through the long day, Lean my face against your turf and say to you All that there is no one else to say. Do they let you listen do you lean to me ? Know now what in life you never knew, When I whisper all that you have been to me, All that I might never be to you 1 Dear, lie still.

óҹء