The poetical reader, with notes and questions by A.W. BuchanAlexander Winton Buchan 1861 |
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Side 8
... tell me , is this death ? Mother ! your hand- " Here - lay it on my wrist , And place the other thus , beneath my head , And say , sweet mother ! -say , when I am dead , Shall I be miss'd ? " Never beside your knee Shall I kneel down ...
... tell me , is this death ? Mother ! your hand- " Here - lay it on my wrist , And place the other thus , beneath my head , And say , sweet mother ! -say , when I am dead , Shall I be miss'd ? " Never beside your knee Shall I kneel down ...
Side 12
... tell them Hal's not far behind . " " Oh ! does he live ? " my father cried ; My mother did not stay to speak ; My Jessy now I silent eyed , Who throbb'd as if her heart would break . My mother saw her catching sigh , And hid her face ...
... tell them Hal's not far behind . " " Oh ! does he live ? " my father cried ; My mother did not stay to speak ; My Jessy now I silent eyed , Who throbb'd as if her heart would break . My mother saw her catching sigh , And hid her face ...
Side 17
... Tell me how the sailor's mother had won Napoleon's favour . 16. How was the sailor's filial affection rewarded ? 17. How greatly did the sailor value the coin ? Prime , adj . ( L. primus ) . Ma'tron , n . ( L. mater ) . WORDSWORTH . Dig ...
... Tell me how the sailor's mother had won Napoleon's favour . 16. How was the sailor's filial affection rewarded ? 17. How greatly did the sailor value the coin ? Prime , adj . ( L. primus ) . Ma'tron , n . ( L. mater ) . WORDSWORTH . Dig ...
Side 23
... Tell me the prettiest spot to him at night . 9. In what state are matters at home ? 10. What carries he home on his shoul- der ? LINES TO A SWALLOW . THOMAS AIRD . " The Swallow , " says Sir Humphry Davy in his Salmonia , " is one of my ...
... Tell me the prettiest spot to him at night . 9. In what state are matters at home ? 10. What carries he home on his shoul- der ? LINES TO A SWALLOW . THOMAS AIRD . " The Swallow , " says Sir Humphry Davy in his Salmonia , " is one of my ...
Side 26
... TELL me not , in mournful numbers , 66 ' 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 ...
... TELL me not , in mournful numbers , 66 ' 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 ...
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ALEXANDER WINTON Andromache beauty beneath bird breast breath bright brothers call'd Canute child clouds cold Colma cottage crown dark dead dear death deep Dismal Swamp dost doth dread earth Edinburgh Edition eternal fair falchion father fear fire flowers Forever-never friends gazed glory green grief hand happy hath hear heard heart heaven hill History Iceni Keeldar king Lausus light live lonely look Lord Mezentius mitherless bairn morning mother N. P. WILLIS ne'er nest never Never-forever night o'er pass'd poet praise pride Professor Queen rest ROBERT BURNS rock round Salgar seem'd silent sing SIR WALTER SCOTT sleep smile song sorrow soul speak stood stream Sugh summer sweet tears tell thee thine THOMAS HOOD thou art thought throne Tidore tree Tuscany Twas University of Edinburgh Vex'd voice weary weep wild wind wing word
Populære passager
Side 74 - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain ? What fields, or waves, or mountains ? What shapes of sky or plain ? What love of thine own kind ? what ignorance of pain ? With thy clear, keen joyance Languor cannot be : Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee : Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.
Side 49 - I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. I REMEMBER, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn : He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day, But now I often wish the night Had borne my breath away ! I remember, I remember...
Side 27 - Whither, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way?
Side 92 - The seasons' difference ; as, the icy fang, And churlish chiding of the winter's wind ; Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — This is no flattery : these are counsellors, That feelingly persuade me what I am. Sweet are the uses of adversity ; Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ; And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and...
Side 72 - Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began.
Side 96 - How many thousand of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep ! O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down And steep my senses in forgetfulness...
Side 91 - She should have died hereafter ; There would have been a time for such a word. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death.
Side 58 - Let us be patient ! These severe afflictions Not from the ground arise, But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise. We see but dimly through the mists and vapors Amid these earthly damps What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers May be heaven's distant lamps.
Side 59 - Not as a child shall we again behold her ; For when with raptures wild In our embraces we again enfold her, She will not be a child ; But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion, Clothed with celestial grace ; And beautiful with all the soul's expansion Shall we behold her face.
Side 91 - I have almost forgot the taste of fears : The time has been, my senses would have cool'd To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir As life were in't : I have supp'd full with horrors ; Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, Cannot once start me.