The book of recitations [ed.] by C.W. Smith |
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Page 105
... hath fallen they drift along , Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock- Oh , Christ ! it is the Inchcape Rock ! " 66 Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair , He cursed himself in his despair ; The waves rush in on every side , The ...
... hath fallen they drift along , Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock- Oh , Christ ! it is the Inchcape Rock ! " 66 Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair , He cursed himself in his despair ; The waves rush in on every side , The ...
Page 110
... hath blown , That host on the morrow lay withered and strown . For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast , And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed ; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill , And their ...
... hath blown , That host on the morrow lay withered and strown . For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast , And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed ; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill , And their ...
Page 113
... hath conquered regions wide , But he shall not slumber there ! " By the violated hearth Which made way for yon proud shrine : By the harvests which this earth Hath borne for me and mine ; " By the house e'en here o'erthrown , On my ...
... hath conquered regions wide , But he shall not slumber there ! " By the violated hearth Which made way for yon proud shrine : By the harvests which this earth Hath borne for me and mine ; " By the house e'en here o'erthrown , On my ...
Page 114
... Hath yet its brooding breast With my home's white ashes filled , And it shall not give him rest ! " Each pillar's massy bed Hath been wet by weeping eyes— Away ! bestow your dead Where no wrong against him cries . " Shame glowed on each ...
... Hath yet its brooding breast With my home's white ashes filled , And it shall not give him rest ! " Each pillar's massy bed Hath been wet by weeping eyes— Away ! bestow your dead Where no wrong against him cries . " Shame glowed on each ...
Page 115
... Hath the hue of a mortal despair . Yet cheerful and happy , nor distant the day , Poor Mary the Maniac hath been ; The Traveller remembers , who journeyed this way , No damsel so lovely , no damsel so gay , As Mary , the Maid of the Inn ...
... Hath the hue of a mortal despair . Yet cheerful and happy , nor distant the day , Poor Mary the Maniac hath been ; The Traveller remembers , who journeyed this way , No damsel so lovely , no damsel so gay , As Mary , the Maid of the Inn ...
Expressions et termes fréquents
Absalom arms battle beauty beneath blood bosom bowed brave breast breath bright brother brow Cæsar clouds cold cried customed hill dark dead death deep dread dream earth Eleonora di Toledo EUGENE ARAM fair falchion father fear fell gazed Gelert gold grave hand hast hath head hear heard heart heaven hour Inchcape Rock Jaspar Julius Cæsar king knew Lars Porsena light lips live Lochiel lonely look Lord William loud Macgregor moon morn never Nevermore night numbers o'er once pale pride proud Quoth Quoth the Raven rock rose round Samian wine sate shone shore shout sigh silent slave sleep smile song soul Souliotes sound spake spirit steed stood stream strong sweet sword tears Thaïs thee thine thou thought Twas victorious bands voice wave weary weep wild wind young youth
Fréquemment cités
Page 211 - Wept o'er his wounds or tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began.
Page 130 - Be that word our sign of parting, bird, or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting: "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! Quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
Page 275 - O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife ; and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep : Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners...
Page 19 - Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.
Page 282 - With a bare bodkin ? who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life ; But that the dread of something after death, — The undiscovered country, from whose bourn No traveller returns, — puzzles the will ; And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all...
Page 260 - Though justice be thy plea, consider this, That, in the course of justice, none of us Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy; And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mercy.
Page 63 - On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow ; And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.
Page 278 - tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature Possess it merely. That it should come to this! But two months dead: nay, not so much, not two: So excellent a king; that was, to this, Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly.
Page 274 - This is the state of man : To-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hopes ; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; And, — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.
Page 210 - 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.