A New Library of Poetry and Song, 2 tomasWilliam Cullen Bryant J. B. Ford, 1877 - 934 psl. |
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455 psl.
... Rocks , waters , woods , and by the shaggy tops Uplifting bore them in their hands : amaze , Be sure , and terror , seized the rebel host , When coming towards them so dread they saw The bottom of the mountains upward turned , .. and on ...
... Rocks , waters , woods , and by the shaggy tops Uplifting bore them in their hands : amaze , Be sure , and terror , seized the rebel host , When coming towards them so dread they saw The bottom of the mountains upward turned , .. and on ...
460 psl.
... rocks its pride to brave , High swelling , dark , and slow . The lake is passed , and now they gain A narrow and a broken plain , Before the Trosach's rugged jaws ; And here the horse and spearmen pause , While , to explore the ...
... rocks its pride to brave , High swelling , dark , and slow . The lake is passed , and now they gain A narrow and a broken plain , Before the Trosach's rugged jaws ; And here the horse and spearmen pause , While , to explore the ...
467 psl.
... rock , Proof to the tempest's shock , Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow ; 66 Menteith and Breadalbane , then , Echo his praise again , Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu , ho ! ieroe ! " Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin , And ...
... rock , Proof to the tempest's shock , Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow ; 66 Menteith and Breadalbane , then , Echo his praise again , Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu , ho ! ieroe ! " Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin , And ...
469 psl.
... rock o ' dool , Like a muckle blot o ' ink in a buik fra ' the schule , An ' Jock ! it gars me min ' o ' your buikies lang syne , An ' mindin ' o ' it a ' the tears begin to fa ' , An ' whiddie , whuddie , whaddie , gang the auld wheels ...
... rock o ' dool , Like a muckle blot o ' ink in a buik fra ' the schule , An ' Jock ! it gars me min ' o ' your buikies lang syne , An ' mindin ' o ' it a ' the tears begin to fa ' , An ' whiddie , whuddie , whaddie , gang the auld wheels ...
470 psl.
William Cullen Bryant. Then a bull roars fra ' the scaur , ilka rock's a | With neck out - thrust , you fancy how , bull agen , Legs wide , arms locked behind , An ' I hear the trump o ' war , an ' the carse is fu ' As if to balance the ...
William Cullen Bryant. Then a bull roars fra ' the scaur , ilka rock's a | With neck out - thrust , you fancy how , bull agen , Legs wide , arms locked behind , An ' I hear the trump o ' war , an ' the carse is fu ' As if to balance the ...
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ALEXANDER POPE ALFRED TENNYSON Anne Hathaway arms beauty bells BEN JONSON beneath blessed blood blow blue brave breast breath bright brow clouds cried crown dark dead dear death Deborah Lee deep doth dream earth eyes face fair fame fear fell FITZ-GREENE HALLECK flowers frae gazed glory gold grace grave gray green hand hast hath head hear heard heart heaven HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER king land Lars Porsena light lips live look Lord LORD BYRON moon morning ne'er never nevermore night o'er Osawatomie peace roar ROBERT BURNS rock rose round shine shore silent sing sleep smile song soul sound stars steed stood stream sweet sword tears tell thee thine things thou thought thunder toil voice wave wild WILLIAM COWPER wind wings wonder
Populiarios ištraukos
626 psl. - Earth has not anything to show more fair : Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers,, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
815 psl. - MILTON ! thou should'st be living at this hour : England hath need of thee : she is a fen Of stagnant waters : altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men ; Oh ! raise us up, return to us again ; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
556 psl. - Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord: He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword: His truth is marching on.
783 psl. - Twas sad as sad could be; And we did speak only to break The silence of the sea! All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody Sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the Moon. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean. Water, water, everywhere, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water everywhere Nor any drop to drink.
709 psl. - To hear the lark begin his flight, And singing startle the dull Night, From his watch-tower in the skies, Till the dappled dawn doth rise; Then to come, in spite of sorrow, And at my window bid good morrow, Through the sweet-brier, or the vine, Or the twisted eglantine...
461 psl. - twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet But hark!
818 psl. - Peace to all such! but were there one whose fires True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires; Blest with each talent, and each art to please, And born to write, converse, and live with ease; Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne...
723 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. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
709 psl. - Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful jollity, Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles, Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek : Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides. Come, and trip it as you go, On the light fantastic toe...
657 psl. - Hear the tolling of the bells Iron bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people - ah, the people They that dwell up in the steeple, All alone, And who tolling, tolling...