Lyra Heroica: A Book of Verse for BoysC. Scribner's Sons, 1891 - 364 psl. |
Knygos viduje
Rezultatai 1–5 iš 34
11 psl.
... breath ; Who hath his ear from rumours freed ; Whose conscience is his strong retreat ; Whose state can neither flatterers feed , Nor ruin make oppressors great ; Who envies none whom chance doth raise , Or vice WOTTON 11 SIR HENRY ...
... breath ; Who hath his ear from rumours freed ; Whose conscience is his strong retreat ; Whose state can neither flatterers feed , Nor ruin make oppressors great ; Who envies none whom chance doth raise , Or vice WOTTON 11 SIR HENRY ...
20 psl.
... breath When they , pale captives , creep to death . The garlands wither on their brow- Then boast no more your mighty deeds ! Upon Death's purple altar now See where the victor - victim bleeds ! All heads must come To the cold tomb ...
... breath When they , pale captives , creep to death . The garlands wither on their brow- Then boast no more your mighty deeds ! Upon Death's purple altar now See where the victor - victim bleeds ! All heads must come To the cold tomb ...
41 psl.
... , Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young : The jolly god in triumph comes ; Sound the trumpets , beat the drums ! Flushed with a purple grace He shows his honest face : Now give the hautboys breath ; he comes , he DRYDEN 41.
... , Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young : The jolly god in triumph comes ; Sound the trumpets , beat the drums ! Flushed with a purple grace He shows his honest face : Now give the hautboys breath ; he comes , he DRYDEN 41.
42 psl.
A Book of Verse for Boys William Ernest Henley. Now give the hautboys breath ; he comes , he comes ! Bacchus , ever fair and young , Drinking joys did first ordain ; Bacchus ' blessings are a treasure , Drinking is the soldier's pleasure ...
A Book of Verse for Boys William Ernest Henley. Now give the hautboys breath ; he comes , he comes ! Bacchus , ever fair and young , Drinking joys did first ordain ; Bacchus ' blessings are a treasure , Drinking is the soldier's pleasure ...
44 psl.
... bellows learned to blow , While organs yet were mute , Timotheus , to his breathing flute And sounding lyre , Could swell the soul to rage or kindle soft desire . At last divine Cecilia came , Inventress of the vocal 44 DRYDEN.
... bellows learned to blow , While organs yet were mute , Timotheus , to his breathing flute And sounding lyre , Could swell the soul to rage or kindle soft desire . At last divine Cecilia came , Inventress of the vocal 44 DRYDEN.
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Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
Lyra Heroica– A Book of Verse for Boys - Scholar's Choice Edition William Ernest Henley Peržiūra negalima - 2015 |
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
Alhama Arethusa arms Atli's auld lang syne Avès ballad battle behold beneath blood blow bold Bonny Dundee bowed brave breath bright burn captain Carlisle castle Clusium Colonel's cried dark dead death deck deep doth drum England English Erle eyes face fair father fear fell fierce fight fire flag Flag of England fought gallant glory grave grey Gunnar hame hand hath head heard heart heaven Hervé Riel hill Hogni honour horse host hundred Kamal King Kinmont Willie land Lars Porsena live looked Lord Willoughby loud Lycidas mighty never Niblungs night noble numbers o'er Oxus printed roar rock rose round Ruksh Rustum sail Samian wine Seistan shield ship shore shout Sir Patrick Spens slain smile Sohrab song soul sound spake spear stood sweet sword tears thee thou Twas verse voice waves wind
Populiarios ištraukos
32 psl. - Going to the Wars Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind, That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. 1 Imprisoned or caged. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honor more.
28 psl. - CROMWELL, our chief of men, who through a cloud Not of war only, but detractions rude, Guided by faith and matchless fortitude, To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed...
1 psl. - O, for a muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention ! A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, And monarchs to behold the swelling scene ! Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, Assume the port of Mars ; and, at his heels, Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire, Crouch for employment.
43 psl. - War, he sung, is toil and trouble; Honour, but an empty bubble; Never ending, still beginning, Fighting still, and still destroying; If the world be worth thy winning, Think, O think it worth enjoying! Lovely Thais sits beside thee, Take the good the gods provide thee!
20 psl. - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill : But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath When they, pale captives, creep to death.
33 psl. - The gods that wanton in the air, Know no such liberty. When flowing cups run swiftly round With no allaying Thames, Our careless heads with roses bound, Our hearts with loyal flames ; When thirsty grief in wine we steep, When healths and draughts go free, Fishes that tipple in the deep, Know no such liberty.
351 psl. - The Author continued for about three hours in a profound sleep, at least of the external senses, during which time he has the most vivid confidence that he could not have composed less than from two to three hundred lines; if that indeed can be called composition in which all the images rose up before him as things, with a parallel production of the correspondent expressions, without any sensation or consciousness of effort.
176 psl. - And but the booming shots replied, And fast the flames rolled on. Upon his brow he felt their breath, And in his waving hair, And looked from that lone post of death, In still yet brave despair ; And shouted but once more aloud, ' My father ! must I stay ?' While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way.
171 psl. - Tis time this heart should be unmoved, Since others it hath ceased to move : Yet, though I cannot be beloved, Still let me love ! My days are in the yellow leaf ; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief Are mine alone...
20 psl. - THE glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and Crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.