Gems for the young from favourite poets, ed. by R. Mulholland1884 |
Indhold
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Andre udgaver - Se alle
Almindelige termer og sætninger
angel bells beneath bird blessed blood breast breath bright brow Cæsar child clouds cried DAMON AND PYTHIAS dark dead dear death deep dost doth dream earth ELIZA COOK eyes face fair father fear fled flowers gazed Gelert GERALD GRIFFIN Geraldines gleaming glory grave green H. W. LONGFELLOW hand hath hear heard heart heaven holy honourable Irish wife JOHN SHEARS king land light lips live Lochinvar look Lord LORD BYRON loud maiden MALAHIDE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE morning mother mountain ne'er never night o'er ocean OLIVER GOLDSMITH pray pride rest river Dee roar round SACK OF BALTIMORE shine silent sing sleep smile snow song sorrow soul sound stood sweet sword T. D. SULLIVAN tears tell thee thine THOMAS MOORE thou thought Twas voice wave weary weep wild wind young youth
Populære passager
Side 291 - All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players. They have their exits, and their entrances ; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms...
Side 59 - Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a Mother's mind, And no unworthy aim, The homely Nurse doth all she can To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man, Forget the glories he hath known, And that imperial palace whence he came. VII Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, A six years
Side 219 - Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee — Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts — not so thou Unchangeable, save to thy wild waves
Side 141 - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place...
Side 260 - I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts : I am no orator, as Brutus is; But, as you know me all, a plain, blunt man, That love my friend ; and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him: For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood : I only speak right on : I tell you that which you yourselves do know...
Side 165 - And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease ; For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells.
Side 104 - Stop here, or gently pass ! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain ; Oh, listen ! for the vale profound Is overflowing with the sound. No nightingale did ever chaunt More welcome notes to weary bands Of travellers in some shady haunt Among Arabian sands : —A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird. Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.
Side 140 - Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, The village master taught his little school. A man severe he was, and stern to view ; I knew him well, and every truant knew. Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face...
Side 58 - Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call Ye to each other make ; I see The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee ; My heart is at your festival, My head hath its coronal, The fulness of your bliss, I feel - I feel it all.
Side 62 - The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.