The book of recitations [ed.] by C.W. Smith |
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Página vi
... Bring back the Chain • PAGE Southey . 96 Longfellow . 98 Miss Landon . 101 Southey . 103 Byron . 105 Longfellow . 108 Byron . 110 Longfellow . 111 Mrs. Hemans . 112 Southey . 114 Mrs. Hemans . 118 Milton . 121 · Mary Howitt . 123 Edgar ...
... Bring back the Chain • PAGE Southey . 96 Longfellow . 98 Miss Landon . 101 Southey . 103 Byron . 105 Longfellow . 108 Byron . 110 Longfellow . 111 Mrs. Hemans . 112 Southey . 114 Mrs. Hemans . 118 Milton . 121 · Mary Howitt . 123 Edgar ...
Página 1
... bring , Shall have for his guerdon that gift of his king . " He spoke , and the cup from the terrible steep , That , rugged and hoary , hung over the verge Of the endless and measureless world of the deep , Swirled into the maëlstrom ...
... bring , Shall have for his guerdon that gift of his king . " He spoke , and the cup from the terrible steep , That , rugged and hoary , hung over the verge Of the endless and measureless world of the deep , Swirled into the maëlstrom ...
Página 4
... bring , And thus spoke the Diver- " Long life to the King ! " Happy they whom the rose - hues of daylight rejoice , The air and the sky that to mortals are given ! May the horror below nevermore find a voice— Nor man stretch too far the ...
... bring , And thus spoke the Diver- " Long life to the King ! " Happy they whom the rose - hues of daylight rejoice , The air and the sky that to mortals are given ! May the horror below nevermore find a voice— Nor man stretch too far the ...
Página 5
... bring me fresh tidings , and venture again , To say what lies hid in the innermost main ! " Then out spake the daughter in tender emotion— " Ah ! father , my father , what more can there rest ? Enough of this sport with the pitiless ...
... bring me fresh tidings , and venture again , To say what lies hid in the innermost main ! " Then out spake the daughter in tender emotion— " Ah ! father , my father , what more can there rest ? Enough of this sport with the pitiless ...
Página 6
... brings the lost youth to the shore ! THE SOLDIER'S WIDOW . BY WILLIS . WOE for my vine - clad home ! That it should ... bring to thee a joy ; But oh , how dark is the bright home before thee , To her who with a joyous spirit bore thee ...
... brings the lost youth to the shore ! THE SOLDIER'S WIDOW . BY WILLIS . WOE for my vine - clad home ! That it should ... bring to thee a joy ; But oh , how dark is the bright home before thee , To her who with a joyous spirit bore thee ...
Términos y frases comunes
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
Pasajes populares
Página 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.
Página 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!
Página 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...
Página 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.
Página 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...
Página 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.
Página 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.
Página 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.
Página 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.
Página 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.