Lyra Heroica: A Book of Verse for BoysC. Scribner's Sons, 1891 - 364 psl. |
Knygos viduje
Rezultatai 1–5 iš 35
21 psl.
... loudly sweep the string ; Hence with denial vain , and coy excuse : So may some gentle Muse With lucky words favour my destined urn , And , as he passes , turn And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud ! For we were nursed upon the ...
... loudly sweep the string ; Hence with denial vain , and coy excuse : So may some gentle Muse With lucky words favour my destined urn , And , as he passes , turn And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud ! For we were nursed upon the ...
28 psl.
... loud , And Worcester's laureate wreath : yet much remains To conquer still ; peace hath her victories No less renowned than war : new foes arise , Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains . Help us to save free conscience from ...
... loud , And Worcester's laureate wreath : yet much remains To conquer still ; peace hath her victories No less renowned than war : new foes arise , Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains . Help us to save free conscience from ...
43 psl.
... loud applause ; So love was crowned , but Music won the cause . The prince , unable to conceal his pain , Gazed on ... louder yet , and yet a louder strain ! Break his bands of sleep asunder And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder ...
... loud applause ; So love was crowned , but Music won the cause . The prince , unable to conceal his pain , Gazed on ... louder yet , and yet a louder strain ! Break his bands of sleep asunder And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder ...
57 psl.
... loud , loud lauchèd he ; The neist word that Sir Patrick read , The tear BALLADS 57 SIR PATRICK SPENS.
... loud , loud lauchèd he ; The neist word that Sir Patrick read , The tear BALLADS 57 SIR PATRICK SPENS.
58 psl.
... loud , Fu ' loud I hear ye lie ! For I brought as mickle white monie As gane my men and me , And I brought a half - fou o ' gude red goud Out - o'er the sea wi ' me . Mak ' ready , mak ' ready , my merry men a ' ! Our gude ship sails ...
... loud , Fu ' loud I hear ye lie ! For I brought as mickle white monie As gane my men and me , And I brought a half - fou o ' gude red goud Out - o'er the sea wi ' me . Mak ' ready , mak ' ready , my merry men a ' ! Our gude ship sails ...
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Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
Alhama Arethusa arms auld auld lang syne ballad battle beneath blood blow bold Bonny Dundee bows brave breath Brignall burning captain Carlisle castle Clusium cried dark dead dear death deep 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 hill Hogni honour Horatius horse host hundred King Kinmont Willie land Lars Porsena live looked Lord Willoughby loud Lycidas mighty morn ne'er never Niblungs night noble numbers o'er Oxus roar rock rose round Rustum sail Samian wine Seistan shield ship shore shout sing Sir Patrick Spens slain smile Sohrab song soul sound spake spear steed stood storm sweet sword tears thee thou tower Twas voice waves weep wild wind
Populiarios ištraukos
150 psl. - THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
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...
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!
178 psl. - Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard and the sea; And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free 1 The ocean eagle soared From his nest by the white wave's foam; And the rocking pines of the forest roared — This was their welcome home...
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. Yet this inconstancy is such As thou too shalt adore; I could not love thee, Dear, so much, Loved I not Honour more.
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.
84 psl. - The verse adorn again Fierce War, and faithful Love, And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest. In buskin'd measures move Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain, With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. A voice as of the cherub-choir Gales from blooming Eden bear, And distant warblings lessen on my ear That lost in long futurity expire.
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.