Cyclopædia of English literature, 2 tomas1844 |
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Rezultatai 1–5 iš 100
6 psl.
... hour , And they wither and die in a day . Yet the rose has one powerful virtue to boast , Above all the flowers of the field ; Behold the God ! the Almighty King Rides on a tempest's glorious wing : His ensigns lighten round the sky ...
... hour , And they wither and die in a day . Yet the rose has one powerful virtue to boast , Above all the flowers of the field ; Behold the God ! the Almighty King Rides on a tempest's glorious wing : His ensigns lighten round the sky ...
8 psl.
... hour ? What though we wade in wealth , or soar in fame , Earth's highest station ends in ' here he lies , ' And dust to dust ' concludes her noblest song . And when he argues in favour of the immortality of man from the analogies of ...
... hour ? What though we wade in wealth , or soar in fame , Earth's highest station ends in ' here he lies , ' And dust to dust ' concludes her noblest song . And when he argues in favour of the immortality of man from the analogies of ...
9 psl.
... hours . Where are they ? With the years beyond the flood . It is the signal that demands despatch : How much is to be done ... hour ? O time ! than gold more sacred ; more a load Than lead to fools , and fools reputed wise . What moment ...
... hours . Where are they ? With the years beyond the flood . It is the signal that demands despatch : How much is to be done ... hour ? O time ! than gold more sacred ; more a load Than lead to fools , and fools reputed wise . What moment ...
10 psl.
... hour . ' I've lost a day - the prince who nobly cried , Had been an emperor without his crown . Of Rome ? say ... hour , From everlasting ages growing ripe , That memorable hour of wondrous birth , When the Dread Sire , on emanation bent ...
... hour . ' I've lost a day - the prince who nobly cried , Had been an emperor without his crown . Of Rome ? say ... hour , From everlasting ages growing ripe , That memorable hour of wondrous birth , When the Dread Sire , on emanation bent ...
31 psl.
... hour , and luckless was the day , When first from Schiraz ' walls I bent my way ! ' Ah ! little thought I of the blasting wind , The thirst or pinching hunger that I find ! Bethink thee , Hassan ! where shall thirst assuage , When fails ...
... hour , and luckless was the day , When first from Schiraz ' walls I bent my way ! ' Ah ! little thought I of the blasting wind , The thirst or pinching hunger that I find ! Bethink thee , Hassan ! where shall thirst assuage , When fails ...
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Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
Cyclopædia of English Literature– A History, Critical and ..., 2 tomas Robert Chambers Visos knygos peržiūra - 1844 |
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
ancient appeared beauty beneath blank verse breast breath bright character charms clouds Colonsay dark dear death deep delight Dr Johnson earth England fair fame fancy father fear feel flowers genius grace grave green hand happy hast hear heard heart heaven hill honour hope Horace Walpole hour human king labour Lady light live look Lord Lord Byron lyre mind moral morning mountains mourn muse native nature never night o'er pain passion peace pleasure poem poet poetical poetry praise pride published racter rill Rodmond round scene Scotland seems shade sigh Sir Walter Scott sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit stream style sublime sweet taste tears tender thee thou thought tion Tom Jones Twas uncle Toby vale verse virtue voice wandering wave wild wind young youth
Populiarios ištraukos
410 psl. - 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.
32 psl. - 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. By fairy hands their knell is rung ; By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there ! ODE TO MERCY.
398 psl. - I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
327 psl. - The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite; a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
56 psl. - Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn...
340 psl. - Like one that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And, having once turned round, walks on, And turns no more his head, Because he knows a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread.
219 psl. - In thoughts from the visions of the night, When deep sleep falleth on men, Fear came upon me, and trembling, Which made all my bones to shake. Then a spirit passed before my face; The hair of my flesh stood up: It stood still, but I could not discern the form thereof: An image was before mine eyes, There was silence, and I heard a voice, saying, Shall mortal man be more just than God?
406 psl. - I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket...
327 psl. - For I have learned To look on nature, not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity, Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue. And I have felt A presence that disturbs me with the joy Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime Of something far more deeply interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean and the living air, And the blue sky, and in the mind of man...
406 psl. - Darkling I listen ; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, — Called him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath, — Now more than ever seems it rich to die ; To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy ! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain — To thy high requiem become a sod.