Library of the World's Best Literature: Ancient and ModernCharles Dudley Warner International Society, 1897 |
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1 - 5 találat összesen 36 találatból.
3508. oldal
... speaking with some one else . The company would fain have reclined upon the sward on the slope of the hill , opposite to the outstretched landscape , had they not feared the dampness of the earth . " It were divine , " observed one of ...
... speaking with some one else . The company would fain have reclined upon the sward on the slope of the hill , opposite to the outstretched landscape , had they not feared the dampness of the earth . " It were divine , " observed one of ...
3519. oldal
... speak of the patriot as sacrificing himself to the public weal . Do we mean that he sacrifices what is most properly himself , the principle of piety and virtue ? Do we not feel that however great may be the good which through his ...
... speak of the patriot as sacrificing himself to the public weal . Do we mean that he sacrifices what is most properly himself , the principle of piety and virtue ? Do we not feel that however great may be the good which through his ...
3535. oldal
... speak the language of their readers . It is neces- sary to be a scholar with a scholar , and a poet with a poet . The Almighty does not forbid us to tread the flowery path , if it serves to lead the wanderer once more to him ; nor is it ...
... speak the language of their readers . It is neces- sary to be a scholar with a scholar , and a poet with a poet . The Almighty does not forbid us to tread the flowery path , if it serves to lead the wanderer once more to him ; nor is it ...
3557. oldal
... speak of other holiness , 6 He hath in prosè translatéd Boece , And made the Life also of Saint Cecile ; He made also , gone sithen a great while , ' 2 Trust . " Are called . 3 Ignorant . A great while ago . 4 ' Is called . Origenes ...
... speak of other holiness , 6 He hath in prosè translatéd Boece , And made the Life also of Saint Cecile ; He made also , gone sithen a great while , ' 2 Trust . " Are called . 3 Ignorant . A great while ago . 4 ' Is called . Origenes ...
3577. oldal
... speak of many hundred years ago ; But now can no man see none elvès mo , For now the greatè charity and prayérs Of limitours and other holy freres , That searchen every land and every stream , As thick as motès in the sunnè - beam ...
... speak of many hundred years ago ; But now can no man see none elvès mo , For now the greatè charity and prayérs Of limitours and other holy freres , That searchen every land and every stream , As thick as motès in the sunnè - beam ...
Más kiadások - Összes megtekintése
Gyakori szavak és kifejezések
Adelbert von Chamisso André Chénier beautiful Betteredge Brohl Bruff Cæsar called Canterbury Tales Chamisso Chanticleer Chapman character charm Châteaubriand Chatterton Chaucer Chénier Choate Christian Cicero Clay Coleridge CONFUCIAN Confucius death dream English eyes father fear feel Gabbett genius GEORGE CHAPMAN give glory hand hath head heart heaven Henry Clay Homer honor human interest King letters liberty light literary literature live look Lorcy Lord MATTHIAS CLAUDIUS MENCIUS mind moral nature Nausicaa never night once passion poems poet poetry political religion Rodrigo Roman Samuel Brohl seemed shadow side song soul speak speech spirit stood sweet tell thee things Thomas Chatterton thou thought tion Tom Canty took translation truth turned verse Vetch Victor Cherbuliez virtue voice wonderful words writing wyllowe wyllowe tree ynne young
Népszerű szakaszok
3851. oldal - In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round: And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
3853. oldal - It perched for vespers nine ; Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, Glimmered the white Moon-shine." " God save thee, ancient Mariner ! From the fiends, that plague thee thus ! — Why look'st thou so ? " — " With my cross-bow I shot the ALBATROSS.
3872. oldal - He threw his blood-stained sword, in thunder, down ; And with a withering look, The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe...
3856. oldal - And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast! Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed, And sent my soul abroad, Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give, Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live! II A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear, A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief, Which finds no natural outlet, no relief, In word, or sigh, or tear— 0 Lady!
3833. oldal - IT fortifies my soul to know That, though I perish, Truth is so : That, howsoe'er I stray and range, Whate'er I do, Thou dost not change. I steadier step when I recall That, if I slip, Thou dost not fall.
3835. oldal - When fell the night, upsprung the breeze, And all the darkling hours they plied, Nor dreamt but each the self-same seas By each was cleaving, side by side : E'en so — but why the tale reveal Of those whom, year by year unchanged, Brief absence joined anew to feel, Astounded, soul from soul estranged?
3871. oldal - twas wild. But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair, What was thy delighted measure ? Still it whisper'd promised pleasure And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail!
3857. oldal - Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud — We in ourselves rejoice! And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight, All melodies the echoes of that voice, All colours a suffusion from that light.
3856. oldal - WELL ! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence, This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence Unroused by winds, that ply a busier trade Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes, Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes Upon the strings of this ^Eolian lute, Which better far were mute.
3870. oldal - How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.