Songs of Three CenturiesJohn Greenleaf Whittier J.R. Osgood, 1875 - 352 หน้า |
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หน้า xi
... Samuel Taylor Coleridge 108 66 66 66 107 66 66 107 MOUNI • CHRISTABEL . STANZAS . · THE INCHCAPE ROCK BROUGH BELLS THE HOUSEKEEPER THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES HESTER . WHEN MAGGY GANGS AWAY THE RAPTURE OF KILMENY FLY TO THE DESERT THE MID ...
... Samuel Taylor Coleridge 108 66 66 66 107 66 66 107 MOUNI • CHRISTABEL . STANZAS . · THE INCHCAPE ROCK BROUGH BELLS THE HOUSEKEEPER THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES HESTER . WHEN MAGGY GANGS AWAY THE RAPTURE OF KILMENY FLY TO THE DESERT THE MID ...
หน้า xxii
... COLERIDGE , SAMUEL TAYLOR . Dirge in Cimbeline . Evening , Ode to . 203 Christabel . 110 207 Genevieve 108 204 Hymn before Sunrise in the Vale of Chamouni . 109 189 COLLINS , WILLIAM . 190 Death of the Flowers , The 188 189 COOKE , ROSE ...
... COLERIDGE , SAMUEL TAYLOR . Dirge in Cimbeline . Evening , Ode to . 203 Christabel . 110 207 Genevieve 108 204 Hymn before Sunrise in the Vale of Chamouni . 109 189 COLLINS , WILLIAM . 190 Death of the Flowers , The 188 189 COOKE , ROSE ...
หน้า 105
... bare , Nor lacked they many a banner fair ; For , from their shivered brows displayed , Far o'er the unfathomable glade , All twinkling with the dew - drop sheen , SIR WALTER SCOTT . SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE . And that.
... bare , Nor lacked they many a banner fair ; For , from their shivered brows displayed , Far o'er the unfathomable glade , All twinkling with the dew - drop sheen , SIR WALTER SCOTT . SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE . And that.
หน้า 107
John Greenleaf Whittier. SIR WALTER SCOTT . SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE . And that he crossed the mountain. 107 But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory . The autumn winds , rushing , Waft the leaves that are searest ; But our ...
John Greenleaf Whittier. SIR WALTER SCOTT . SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE . And that he crossed the mountain. 107 But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory . The autumn winds , rushing , Waft the leaves that are searest ; But our ...
หน้า 108
John Greenleaf Whittier. SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE . And that he crossed the mountain - woods , SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE . And how she wept , and. The huge hall - table's oaken face , Scrubbed till it shone the day to grace , Bore then upon ...
John Greenleaf Whittier. SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE . And that he crossed the mountain - woods , SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE . And how she wept , and. The huge hall - table's oaken face , Scrubbed till it shone the day to grace , Bore then upon ...
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คำและวลีที่พบบ่อย
angels beauty BEGONE DULL CARE bells beneath bird blessed bliss bonnie Braes breast breath bright busk calm Christabel clouds dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth EDMUND SPENSER Edom eternal eyes face fair fear flowers frae Glenlogie glory golden grace grave green Grongar Hill hand hast hath hear heard heart heaven hill holy hour Hymn Inchcape Rock JOHN BYROM Kilmeny kiss lady land lassie light live Lochaber lonely look Lord maun mind morning mourn ne'er never night o'er praise rest rose round Saint Agnes SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE scorn shade shine shore sigh sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars sweet tears tell thee thine thou art thought tree unto vale voice wandering waves weary weel ween weep wild WILLIAM SHENSTONE wind wings Yarrow
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หน้า 125 - But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail ; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
หน้า 66 - Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side; But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all: And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
หน้า 209 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
หน้า 30 - GOING TO THE WARS Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
หน้า 125 - For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
หน้า 160 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags Plying her needle and thread — Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! In poverty, hunger and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, Would that its tone could reach the rich ! She sang this "Song of the Shirt.
หน้า 223 - Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea,
หน้า 37 - The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
หน้า 97 - No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng, The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep, And all the earth is gay...
หน้า 223 - Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn!