The Blue Poetry BookAndrew Lang Longmans, Green, 1892 - 264 oldal |
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1 - 5 találat összesen 16 találatból.
v. oldal
... Lamb Night · On a Spaniel called ' Beau ' killing a Young Bird Lucy Gray ; or , Solitude Hunting Song Lord Ullin's Daughter . The Chimney - Sweeper Nora's Vow W. Blake J. Hogg T. Hood W. Blake W. Blake W. Cowper • • W. Wordsworth Sir W ...
... Lamb Night · On a Spaniel called ' Beau ' killing a Young Bird Lucy Gray ; or , Solitude Hunting Song Lord Ullin's Daughter . The Chimney - Sweeper Nora's Vow W. Blake J. Hogg T. Hood W. Blake W. Blake W. Cowper • • W. Wordsworth Sir W ...
vii. oldal
... Lamb . W. Collins . 78 79 Sir W. Scott 81 Unknown 81 Sir W. Scott 83 H. W. Long- fellow . 84 J. Dryden 85 C. Marlowe . 89 89 90 93 94 98 Miss Jane Elliott E. A. Poe S. T. Coleridge . J. Milton J. Milton Sir W. Scott 102 103 P. B. ...
... Lamb . W. Collins . 78 79 Sir W. Scott 81 Unknown 81 Sir W. Scott 83 H. W. Long- fellow . 84 J. Dryden 85 C. Marlowe . 89 89 90 93 94 98 Miss Jane Elliott E. A. Poe S. T. Coleridge . J. Milton J. Milton Sir W. Scott 102 103 P. B. ...
viii. oldal
... Lamb 181 C. Dibdin 183 W. Wordsworth 183 J. Bunyan 187 187 • 189 Leader Haughs Epitaph on a Hare Battle of Otterbourne Lycidas ( Elegy on a Friend Drowned the Irish Channel ) . in Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard On the Morning of ...
... Lamb 181 C. Dibdin 183 W. Wordsworth 183 J. Bunyan 187 187 • 189 Leader Haughs Epitaph on a Hare Battle of Otterbourne Lycidas ( Elegy on a Friend Drowned the Irish Channel ) . in Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard On the Morning of ...
3. oldal
... Softest clothing , woolly , bright ; Gave thee such a tender voice Making all the vales rejoice ; Little Lamb , who made thee ? Dost thou know who made thee ? Little Lamb , I'll tell thee . Little Lamb , B 2 I remember , I remember 3 II ...
... Softest clothing , woolly , bright ; Gave thee such a tender voice Making all the vales rejoice ; Little Lamb , who made thee ? Dost thou know who made thee ? Little Lamb , I'll tell thee . Little Lamb , B 2 I remember , I remember 3 II ...
4. oldal
Andrew Lang. Little Lamb , I'll tell thee . Little Lamb , I'll tell thee . He is called by thy name , For He calls Himself a Lamb : - He is meek and He is mild ; He became a little child . I a child , and thou a lamb , We are called by ...
Andrew Lang. Little Lamb , I'll tell thee . Little Lamb , I'll tell thee . He is called by thy name , For He calls Himself a Lamb : - He is meek and He is mild ; He became a little child . I a child , and thou a lamb , We are called by ...
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ancient Annabel Lee appeared ballad beautiful became beneath bird bonny born brave breath bright Cambridge Charles Lamb Christabel CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE cloud Cumnor dead dear death deep delight doth Edinburgh Edinburgh Review England English eyes fair father finest flowers gallant Gray green Hall hand hath hear heard heart Heart of Midlothian heaven hill Irish King Kinmont Willie lady Lamb land later light live London look'd Lord loud Lycidas Marlowe Mary Ambree merry Milton Minstrel Minstrelsy moon morn mother ne'er never night o'er Otterbourne plays poet poetry prose published Queen rose Scott Scottish Border Shakespeare ship sing Sir Patrick Spens Sir Walter Scott sleep song soul sound sung Surtees sweet tell thee thou Twas voice volume of poems waves weary wild WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE wind WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED Wordsworth written wrote Yarrow youth
Népszerű szakaszok
71. oldal - 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. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers...
207. oldal - Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd muse, The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day.
64. oldal - Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow And coughing drowns the parson's saw And birds sit brooding in the snow And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted...
67. oldal - GOING TO THE WARS Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
61. oldal - The Solitary Reaper Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; 0 listen! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound.
33. oldal - At length, upon the harp, with glee, Mingled with arch simplicity, A soft, yet lively, air she rung, While thus the wily lady sung : LOCHINVAR. 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 unarm'd, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
206. oldal - Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd 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...
28. oldal - It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise ! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies ; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing, Onward through life he goes ; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close ; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose.
130. oldal - TO HELEN. Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome.
153. oldal - Around, around, flew each sweet sound, Then darted to the Sun; Slowly the sounds came back again, Now mixed, now one by one. Sometimes a-dropping from the sky I heard the sky-lark sing; Sometimes all little birds that are, How they seemed to fill the sea and air With their sweet jargoning! And now 'twas like all instruments, Now like a lonely flute; And now it is an angel's song, That makes the heavens be mute.