Poetic reader, for the use of schools, 2 dalis1881 |
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32 psl.
... rush in frenzy — these the sails to lower , Those seek the boat ; whilst overboard some throw Casks , plank , or spar , as other hope were o'er : Here rings the hammer's there the hatchet's blow , Whilst dash the surges ' gainst a ...
... rush in frenzy — these the sails to lower , Those seek the boat ; whilst overboard some throw Casks , plank , or spar , as other hope were o'er : Here rings the hammer's there the hatchet's blow , Whilst dash the surges ' gainst a ...
40 psl.
... rush with his clanking hoofs through space , With a wreath of smoke for his mane . I would say to them as they shook in their fear , " Now , what is your paltry book , Or the Phidian touch of the chisel's point That can make the marble ...
... rush with his clanking hoofs through space , With a wreath of smoke for his mane . I would say to them as they shook in their fear , " Now , what is your paltry book , Or the Phidian touch of the chisel's point That can make the marble ...
42 psl.
... rush into song at this demon of ours , Let him sing too the shovel and pick . ALEX . ANDERSON . PART IV . Ballads . THE COLOUR - BEARER . THE shock of battle swept the lines , And wounded men and slain Lay thick as lie in summer fields ...
... rush into song at this demon of ours , Let him sing too the shovel and pick . ALEX . ANDERSON . PART IV . Ballads . THE COLOUR - BEARER . THE shock of battle swept the lines , And wounded men and slain Lay thick as lie in summer fields ...
57 psl.
... rush so straight as he ! All summer long that little Wren Would chatter like a saucy thing ; And in the bush attack the thrush That on the hawthorn perched to sing . Like many noisy little men , Lived , bragged , and fought that little ...
... rush so straight as he ! All summer long that little Wren Would chatter like a saucy thing ; And in the bush attack the thrush That on the hawthorn perched to sing . Like many noisy little men , Lived , bragged , and fought that little ...
73 psl.
... rush , The long note of the hermit thrush . " The turquoise lakes , the glimpse of pond And river track , and , vast , beyond Broad meadows belted round with pines , The grand uplift of mountain lines ! " What matter though we seek with ...
... rush , The long note of the hermit thrush . " The turquoise lakes , the glimpse of pond And river track , and , vast , beyond Broad meadows belted round with pines , The grand uplift of mountain lines ! " What matter though we seek with ...
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
Alcinous ALICE CARY beauty bells beneath Bill bird blow brave breath bright CELIA THAXTER CHARLES WARREN STODDARD cloud crimson dark dark waves dead dream earth EMMA LAZARUS eyes face fair flowers Frankie Gallop gaze Glad song gleam glides gold golden GRANDPÈRE green grow Haco hand Hark hath head heart heaven HENRY GRINNELL hill JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER labour LAING PURVES land light little Wren look maidens merry mighty morning murmur Nausicaa nest night o'er peace Pilgrim PILGRIM FATHERS Poems proud rain roar ROBERT BUCHANAN rocks round rush sail shining shore shout showers sight sing smile soft softly song soul sound Spring star steed storm stream summer summers rolled sweet thee thou thro thrush tossed trees Twas voice waters waters dividing waves are free weary wide waves wild wind wings Winter woods yellow
Populiarios ištraukos
207 psl. - The mossy marbles rest On the lips that he has prest In their bloom, And the names he loved to hear Have been carved for many a year On the tomb.
207 psl. - The Last Leaf I saw him once before, As he passed by the door, And again The pavement stones resound, As he totters o'er the ground With his cane. They say that in his prime, Ere the pruning-knife of Time Cut him down, Not a better man was found By the Crier on his round Through the town. But now he walks the streets, And he looks at all he meets Sad and wan, And he shakes his feeble head, That it seems as if he said, "They are gone.
104 psl. - Last night, among his fellow roughs, He jested, quaffed, and swore, A drunken private of the Buffs, Who never looked before. To-day, beneath the foeman's frown, He stands in Elgin's place, Ambassador from Britain's crown, And type of all her race.
80 psl. - The pilgrim spirit has not fled : It walks in noon's broad light ; And it watches the bed of the glorious dead, With the holy stars, by night. It watches the bed of the brave who have bled, And shall guard this ice-bound shore, Till the waves of the bay, where the May-Flower lay, Shall foam and freeze no more.
208 psl. - My grandmamma has said — Poor old lady ! she is dead Long ago — That he had a Roman nose, And his cheek was like a rose In the snow. But now his nose is thin, And it rests upon his chin Like a staff, And a crook is in his back, And a melancholy crack In his laugh. I know it is a sin For me to sit and grin At him here ; But the old three-cornered hat And the breeches, and all that, Are so queer ! And if I should live to be The last leaf upon the tree • In the spring, Let them smile, as I do...
80 psl. - The Pilgrim exile — sainted name ! — The hill, whose icy brow Rejoiced when he came, in the morning's flame, In the morning's flame burns now ; And the moon's cold light, as it lay that night On the hill-side and the sea, Still lies where he laid his houseless head ; — But the Pilgrim — where is he ? 4.
32 psl. - HARK ! I hear the tramp of thousands, And of armed men the hum ; Lo ! a nation's hosts have gathered Round the quick alarming drum, — Saying, " Come, Freemen, come ! Ere your heritage be wasted," said the quick alarming drum. " Let me of my heart take counsel : War is not of life the sum ; Who shall stay and reap the harvest When the autumn days shall come ? " But the drum Echoed, " Come ! Death shall reap the braver harvest," said the solemnsounding drum.
79 psl. - THE Pilgrim Fathers — where are they? The waves that brought them o'er Still roll in the bay, and throw their spray, As they break along the shore ; Still roll in the bay, as they rolled that day, When the Mayflower moored below, When the sea around was black with storms, And white the shore with snow.
223 psl. - There is place and enough for the pains of prose ; But whenever the May-blood stirs and glows, And the young year draws to the
33 psl. - Thus they answered, — hoping, fearing, Some in faith, and doubting some, Till a trumpet-voice proclaiming, Said, " My chosen people, come ! " Then the drum, Lo ! was dumb, For the great heart of the nation, throbbing, answered, " Lord, we come !