New Recitations and Readings: A Choice Collection, which Has Been Selected with Great Care, ... and Comprising Prose and Poetry, Serious, Humorous, Pathetic, Comic, Temperance, Patriotic Selections, 1 leidimasJ.S. Ogilvie Publishing Company, 1893 - 254 psl. |
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Rezultatai 1–5 iš 47
10 psl.
... tone In deathless songs shall tell , When many a vanquished age hath flown , The story how ye fell . Nor wreck , nor change , nor winter's blight , H t Nor time's remorseless doom , Shall dim the ray of LO THE BIVOUAU OF THE DEAD.
... tone In deathless songs shall tell , When many a vanquished age hath flown , The story how ye fell . Nor wreck , nor change , nor winter's blight , H t Nor time's remorseless doom , Shall dim the ray of LO THE BIVOUAU OF THE DEAD.
28 psl.
... tell you ; An ' him an ' me was allers chums , ' Cause I was small you see . But Ted was big , an ' used to keep The boys from lickin ' me ; But when he got his leg smashed up He couldn't work in course , An ' so things sorter changed ...
... tell you ; An ' him an ' me was allers chums , ' Cause I was small you see . But Ted was big , an ' used to keep The boys from lickin ' me ; But when he got his leg smashed up He couldn't work in course , An ' so things sorter changed ...
38 psl.
... Tell me I hate the bowl , - Hate is a feeble word ; I loathe , abhor , my very soul By strong disgust is stirred Whene'er I see , or hear , or tell Of the DARK BEVERAGE OF HELL ! -Anonymous . Saint Isadore . When the spring's fair cheek ...
... Tell me I hate the bowl , - Hate is a feeble word ; I loathe , abhor , my very soul By strong disgust is stirred Whene'er I see , or hear , or tell Of the DARK BEVERAGE OF HELL ! -Anonymous . Saint Isadore . When the spring's fair cheek ...
45 psl.
... tell you ! A bed on the floor , a bit of rosin , A fire to thaw our thumbs ( poor fellow ! The paw he holds up there's been frozen ) , Plenty of catgut for my fiddle ( This out - door business is bad for the strings ) , Then a few nice ...
... tell you ! A bed on the floor , a bit of rosin , A fire to thaw our thumbs ( poor fellow ! The paw he holds up there's been frozen ) , Plenty of catgut for my fiddle ( This out - door business is bad for the strings ) , Then a few nice ...
46 psl.
... tell us how many drams it takes To honor a jolly new acquaintance . Five yelps , -that's five ; he's mighty knowing ! The night's before us , fill the glasses ! - Quick , sir ! I'm ill , —my brain is going ! Some brandy , thank you ...
... tell us how many drams it takes To honor a jolly new acquaintance . Five yelps , -that's five ; he's mighty knowing ! The night's before us , fill the glasses ! - Quick , sir ! I'm ill , —my brain is going ! Some brandy , thank you ...
Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
New Recitations and Readings– A Choice Collection, which Has ..., 1 leidimas Peržiūra negalima - 1800 |
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
ain't arter Babie Bell beaming hills Beau Belle blood blue blue veil brave brow cheek child cold Cooley cried Curfew dark dead dear door eyes face father fell feller fife fire flag of France folks Fontenoy gone Goody Blake gray gray hawks hair Haley hand Harry Gill head heard heart heaven heerd hill Hougomont ice-cream Joaquin Miller kiss light lips look ma'am Magovern morning mother never night o'er Orangeman Othello parrel Patty perliteness play poor prick red fox ring to-night Rip-rip-rip Rose Hartwick Thorpe round Saint Isadore shot shout side smile smoke stood sweet tears tell thee there's thing Thomas Dunn English thou thought told took town turned Twas voice Washington Market weary wife word young
Populiarios ištraukos
61 psl. - for Aix is in sight!' 'How they'll greet us!' — and all in a moment his roan Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, And with circles of red for his eye-sockets
32 psl. - Then off there flung in smiling joy, And held himself erect By just his horse's mane, a boy: You hardly could suspect — (So tight he kept his lips compressed, Scarce any blood came through) You looked twice ere you saw his breast Was all but shot in two. "Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace We've got you Ratisbon!
61 psl. - So we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky ; The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, 'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff, Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!
72 psl. - The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon ; With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ; His youthful hose well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank ; and his big, manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound.
41 psl. - The saint, who enjoyed the communion of heaven, The sinner, who dared to remain unforgiven; The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just, Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust.
148 psl. - Could any thing be more alluring Than an old hedge to Goody Blake ? And, now and then, it must be said, When her old bones were cold and chill, She left her fire, or left her bed, To seek the hedge of Harry Gill.
60 psl. - And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; And one eye's black intelligence, — ever that glance O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance! And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.
41 psl. - The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne ; The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn ; The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave, Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave.
45 psl. - Twas better for her that we should part, — Better the soberest, prosiest life Than a blasted home and a broken heart. I have seen her? Once: I was weak and spent On the dusty road: a carriage stopped: But little she dreamed, as on she went, Who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped!
9 psl. - Their silent tents are spread, And Glory guards, with solemn round, The bivouac of the dead. No rumor of the foe's advance Now swells upon the wind ; No troubled thought at midnight haunts Of loved ones left behind ; No vision of the morrow's strife The warrior's dream alarms ; No braying horn nor screaming fife At dawn shall call to arms.