Patriotic Song: a Book of English Verse: Being an Anthology of the Patriotic Poetry of the British Empire from the Defeat of the Spanish Armada Till the Death of Queen Victoria ...Arnold, 1903 - 363 من الصفحات |
من داخل الكتاب
النتائج 1-5 من 53
الصفحة 11
... souls , this dear , dear land . VI William Shakespeare . ENGLAND INVINCIBLE THIS England never did , nor never shall , Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror , But when it first did help to wound itself , Come the three corners of the ...
... souls , this dear , dear land . VI William Shakespeare . ENGLAND INVINCIBLE THIS England never did , nor never shall , Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror , But when it first did help to wound itself , Come the three corners of the ...
الصفحة 14
... soul , The confident and over - lusty French Do the low - rated English play at dice ; And chide the cripple , tardy - gaited night Who , like a foul and ugly witch , doth limp So tediously away . The poor condemned English , Like ...
... soul , The confident and over - lusty French Do the low - rated English play at dice ; And chide the cripple , tardy - gaited night Who , like a foul and ugly witch , doth limp So tediously away . The poor condemned English , Like ...
الصفحة 15
... priests Sing still for Richard's soul . More will I do ; Though all that I can do is nothing worth , Since that my penitence comes after all , Imploring pardon . ' ST . CRISPIN'S DAY AT AGINCOURT ( King Harry to SHAKESPEARE 15.
... priests Sing still for Richard's soul . More will I do ; Though all that I can do is nothing worth , Since that my penitence comes after all , Imploring pardon . ' ST . CRISPIN'S DAY AT AGINCOURT ( King Harry to SHAKESPEARE 15.
الصفحة 24
... souls with secular chains . Help us to save free conscience from the paw Of hireling wolves whose gospel is their maw . John Milton . XII DELIVERANCE O How comely it is , and how reviving To the spirits of just men long oppress'd ! When ...
... souls with secular chains . Help us to save free conscience from the paw Of hireling wolves whose gospel is their maw . John Milton . XII DELIVERANCE O How comely it is , and how reviving To the spirits of just men long oppress'd ! When ...
الصفحة 39
... In vain Tom's life has doffed , For though his body's under hatches , His soul is gone aloft . Charles Dibdin . XXVII THE TRUE ENGLISH SAILOR JACK dances and sings , DIBDIN 39 CHARLES DIBDIN (1745-1814) TOM BOWLING 39 2880.
... In vain Tom's life has doffed , For though his body's under hatches , His soul is gone aloft . Charles Dibdin . XXVII THE TRUE ENGLISH SAILOR JACK dances and sings , DIBDIN 39 CHARLES DIBDIN (1745-1814) TOM BOWLING 39 2880.
المحتوى
56 | |
63 | |
69 | |
78 | |
80 | |
90 | |
97 | |
103 | |
112 | |
118 | |
125 | |
131 | |
132 | |
139 | |
147 | |
155 | |
219 | |
233 | |
239 | |
247 | |
258 | |
267 | |
275 | |
285 | |
293 | |
299 | |
307 | |
315 | |
323 | |
334 | |
357 | |
طبعات أخرى - عرض جميع المقتطفات
عبارات ومصطلحات مألوفة
Algernon Charles Swinburne battle beneath blood blow Bonnie Dundee boys brave breath breeze bright Britain bugles blown burning captain carries the gun Charlie cheer crown dark Dark Rosaleen dear death deep earth England English eyes face fair fame Felicia Hemans fight flag Flag of England Francis Turner Palgrave gallant glorious glory grave green grey guard hame hand harp hath hear heard heart Hearts of oak heroes hills honour island Isle Kenmure's King land light live Lord mighty morn mother ne'er never night o'er ocean peace Plymouth Hoe Poems pride proud Queen Richard Chenevix Trench Robert Burns Rosaleen round round shot sail Samian wine shine ship shore sing sleep snotties soldier song sons soul sound spirit stand star storm sweet sword tears thee There's thine Thomas Moore thou thunder towers voice warrior waves weep wild wind
مقاطع مشهورة
الصفحة 94 - For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem here no painful inch to gain, Far back, through creeks and inlets making, Comes silent, flooding in, the main.
الصفحة 211 - In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs — and God has given my share — I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose...
الصفحة 24 - CROMWELL, our chief of men, who through a cloud Not of war only, but detractions rude, Guided by faith and matchless fortitude, To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed...
الصفحة 14 - From camp to camp through the foul womb of night The hum of either army stilly sounds, That the fixed sentinels almost receive The secret whispers of each other's watch...
الصفحة 46 - Bring me my bow of burning gold! Bring me my arrows of desire! Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold! Bring me my chariot of fire! I will not cease from mental fight, nor shall my sword sleep in my hand, till we have built Jerusalem in England's green and pleasant land.
الصفحة 15 - God of battles ! steel my soldiers' hearts! Possess them not with fear ; take from them now The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers Pluck their hearts from them ! — Not to-day, O Lord, O not to-day, think not upon the fault My father made in compassing the crown...
الصفحة 5 - FAIR stood the wind for France When we our sails advance, Nor now to prove our chance Longer will tarry; But putting to the main, At Caux, the mouth of Seine, With all his martial train, Landed King Harry.
الصفحة 67 - 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. !$•' Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! Our virgins dance beneath the shade...
الصفحة 83 - Her court was pure ; her life serene ; God gave her peace ; her land reposed ; A thousand claims to reverence closed In her as Mother, Wife and Queen ; 142 The Epic 143 " And statesmen at her council met Who knew the seasons, when to take Occasion by the hand, and make The bounds of freedom wider yet...
الصفحة 67 - Must we but blush ? — Our fathers bled. Earth ! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead ! Of the three hundred grant but three To make a new Thermopylae ! What, silent still ? and silent all ? Ah ! no : the voices of the dead Sound like a distant torrent's fall, And answer, "Let one living head, But one, arise— we come, we come ! " 'Tis but the living who are dumb.