English ElegiesJohn Cann Bailey John Lane, 1900 - 236 من الصفحات |
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الصفحة xiv
... hope is to be as little as possible himself , as much as possible the man or thing of which he writes . It is , we all feel it , the cry of the broken heart , the musing of the solitary wanderer , the utterance now of quiet melancholy ...
... hope is to be as little as possible himself , as much as possible the man or thing of which he writes . It is , we all feel it , the cry of the broken heart , the musing of the solitary wanderer , the utterance now of quiet melancholy ...
الصفحة xxx
... hope took up to topless height All his great ancestors : his one sail , freight With all , all Princes ' treasures " should die so young that he can have accomplished • nothing solid , worthy of our souls ! Nothing that reason more than ...
... hope took up to topless height All his great ancestors : his one sail , freight With all , all Princes ' treasures " should die so young that he can have accomplished • nothing solid , worthy of our souls ! Nothing that reason more than ...
الصفحة xxxviii
... more than anyone gave back to English poetry , I hope it will be felt that nothing important has been omitted . I am happy , too , in being able now to add some noble specimens of the elegiac work of Tennyson and Xxxviii INTRODUCTION.
... more than anyone gave back to English poetry , I hope it will be felt that nothing important has been omitted . I am happy , too , in being able now to add some noble specimens of the elegiac work of Tennyson and Xxxviii INTRODUCTION.
الصفحة xl
... hope , in spite of omissions which are my misfortune , and some , too , perhaps , which are my fault , that the book may be thought to include an adequate selection from the immense mass of English elegiac poetry . I can only say that I ...
... hope , in spite of omissions which are my misfortune , and some , too , perhaps , which are my fault , that the book may be thought to include an adequate selection from the immense mass of English elegiac poetry . I can only say that I ...
الصفحة 5
... hope my joy would have no end ; But oh , fond man ! that in world's fickleness Reposedst hope , or weenedst her thy friend That glories most in mortal miseries , And daily doth her changeful counsels bend , To make new matter fit for ...
... hope my joy would have no end ; But oh , fond man ! that in world's fickleness Reposedst hope , or weenedst her thy friend That glories most in mortal miseries , And daily doth her changeful counsels bend , To make new matter fit for ...
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عبارات ومصطلحات مألوفة
Alcyon Algernon Charles Swinburne Anne Killigrew Astrophel beauty Ben Jonson blest breast breath bright charm Crown 8vo Daily dead dear death delight divine dost doth earth elegiac elegy eternal eyes fair fame fate fear flower gentle glory gone grace grave grief hand happy hast hate hath hear heart heaven honoured JOHN LANE John Milton Jonson Lady lament light live Lycidas Matthew Arnold mind mortal mourn Muse Nature never night noble nought numbers o'er once pain pale Pall Mall Gazette Poems poetry poets praise rest Robert Bridges Robert Herrick sacred saints Shakspeare shepherds shine sigh sing Sir John Beaumont Sith sleep song sorrow soul Spenser spirit stars story sweet tears tender thee thine things thou art thought Timor Mortis conturbat tomb tree unto verse virtue Walter Savage Landor weep whilst William Wordsworth winds wretched
مقاطع مشهورة
الصفحة 48 - Even such is time, that takes in trust Our youth, our joys, our all we have, And pays us but with earth and dust ; Who, in the dark and silent grave, When we have wandered all our ways, Shuts up the story of our days ; But from this earth, this grave, this dust, My God shall raise me up, I trust ! ELIZABETHAN MISCELLANIES.
الصفحة 117 - Ay me! I fondly dream! Had ye been there, for what could that have done? What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore. The Muse herself for her enchanting son, Whom universal nature did lament, When by the rout that made the hideous roar, His gory visage down the stream was sent, Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?
الصفحة 118 - Ah ! who hath reft," quoth he, " my dearest pledge ? " Last came, and last did go, The pilot of the Galilean Lake ; Two massy keys he bore of metals twain (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain). He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake : — " How well could I have spared for thee, young swain, Anow of such as, for their bellies...
الصفحة 116 - Under the opening eyelids of the morn, We drove a-field, and both together heard What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn...
الصفحة 146 - You haste away so soon; As yet the early-rising Sun Has not attain'd his noon. Stay, stay Until the hasting day Has run But to the even-song; And, having pray'd together, we Will go with you along. We have short time to stay, as you, We have as short a Spring ; As quick a growth to meet decay As you, or any thing.
الصفحة 218 - Most musical of mourners, weep again! Lament anew, Urania! — He died, Who was the Sire of an immortal strain, Blind, old, and lonely, when his country's pride The priest, the slave, and the liberticide Trampled and mocked with many a loathed rite Of lust and blood; he went, unterrified, Into the gulf of death; but his clear Sprite Yet reigns o'er earth; the third among the sons of light.
الصفحة 230 - He is made one with Nature : there is heard His voice in all her music, from the moan Of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird ; He is a presence to be felt and known In darkness and in light, from herb and stone, Spreading itself where'er that Power may move Which has withdrawn his being to its own ; Which wields the world with never wearied love, Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.
الصفحة 174 - NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning.
الصفحة 142 - Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile, The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike the inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
الصفحة 162 - But hark ! my pulse, like a soft drum, Beats my approach, tells thee I come ; And slow howe'er my marches be, I shall at last sit down by thee. The thought of this bids me go on, And wait my dissolution With hope and comfort : Dear, (forgive The crime,) I am content to live Divided, with but half a heart, Till we shall meet and never part.