English poetry, for use in the schools of the Collegiate institution, Liverpool [ed. by W. J. Conybeare].1844 |
من داخل الكتاب
النتائج 1-5 من 8
الصفحة 24
... breath , and speed , Fast on his flying traces came , And all but won that desperate game ; For , scarce a spear's length from his haunch , Vindictive toil'd the bloodhounds stanch ; Nor nearer might the dogs attain , Nor farther might ...
... breath , and speed , Fast on his flying traces came , And all but won that desperate game ; For , scarce a spear's length from his haunch , Vindictive toil'd the bloodhounds stanch ; Nor nearer might the dogs attain , Nor farther might ...
الصفحة 38
... breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out , And strewed repentant ashes on his head . Hub . But with my breath I can revive it , boy . Arth . And if you do , you will but make it blush , And glow with shame of your proceedings , Hubert ...
... breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out , And strewed repentant ashes on his head . Hub . But with my breath I can revive it , boy . Arth . And if you do , you will but make it blush , And glow with shame of your proceedings , Hubert ...
الصفحة 48
... breath of thy gardens , the hum of thy bees , And the long waving line of the blue Pyrennees . Farewell , and for ever . The priest and the slave May rule in the hills of the free and the brave ; — Our hearths we abandon , our lands we ...
... breath of thy gardens , the hum of thy bees , And the long waving line of the blue Pyrennees . Farewell , and for ever . The priest and the slave May rule in the hills of the free and the brave ; — Our hearths we abandon , our lands we ...
الصفحة 56
... breathing morn , The swallow twittering from the straw - built shed , The cock's shrill clarion , or the echoing horn , No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed . For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn , Or busy housewife ...
... breathing morn , The swallow twittering from the straw - built shed , The cock's shrill clarion , or the echoing horn , No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed . For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn , Or busy housewife ...
الصفحة 57
... breath ? Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust , Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death ? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed ...
... breath ? Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust , Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death ? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed ...
عبارات ومصطلحات مألوفة
amain arms array Arth battle beneath BISHOP KEN Blount Branksome Branksome Hall brave breath bright brow cease from troubling chase cheer Clare Clusium crest cried dark dead deep DIES iræ dread dust earth England's Eustace eyes fair Father fierce fight fire Fitz-Eustace Flodden foes gallant glory grave hall hand Hark hast hath head hear heard heart heaven heavenly host helmet of Navarre Henry of Navarre hill Holy Horatius horse host Hubert HYMN Janiculum King Lars Porsena Lartius light little prince lonely look Lord Marmion loud Mayenne Moncontour morn mountain ne'er Netherby never night o'er plain Praise rein rest rill rode rose Saint SCOTT SHAKSPERE shore shout sigh sing Skiddaw slain sleep smile song soul sound spears spirit squire stag steed tear thee thine Thou art gone Tiber toil tower voice wake weep wicked cease young Lochinvar
مقاطع مشهورة
الصفحة 30 - Changed his hand, and check'd his pride. He chose a mournful muse, Soft pity to infuse: He sung Darius great and good! ~By too severe a fate, Fallen! fallen! fallen! fallen! Fallen from his high estate, And weltering in his blood!
الصفحة 6 - That day of wrath, that dreadful day, When heaven and earth shall pass away, What power shall be the sinner's stay? How shall he meet that dreadful day? When, shrivelling like a parched scroll, The flaming heavens together roll, When louder yet, and yet more dread, Swells the high trump that wakes the dead ! O, on that day, that wrathful day, When man to judgment wakes from clay, Be THOU the trembling sinner's stay, Though heaven and earth shall pass away!
الصفحة 57 - 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 bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke...
الصفحة 59 - E'en in our Ashes live their wonted Fires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, Haply some hoary-headed Swain may say, 'Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
الصفحة 1 - 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.
الصفحة 70 - 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.
الصفحة 70 - 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 he'll reck; if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
الصفحة 57 - Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathomed 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...
الصفحة 61 - On a rock, whose haughty brow, Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the Poet stood ; (Loose his beard, and hoary hair Streamed, like a meteor, to the troubled air) And with a Master's hand, and Prophet's fire, Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.
الصفحة 6 - HERON'S SONG. O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best, And save his good broadsword he weapons had none ; He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.