Songs of Three CenturiesJohn Greenleaf Whittier J.R. Osgood, 1875 - 352 pagini |
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Pagina 11
... dear , And doth embrace the world , and worldly things . She flies close by the ground and hovers here , And mounts not up with her celestial wings : Yet under heaven she cannot light on aught That with her heavenly nature doth agree ...
... dear , And doth embrace the world , and worldly things . She flies close by the ground and hovers here , And mounts not up with her celestial wings : Yet under heaven she cannot light on aught That with her heavenly nature doth agree ...
Pagina 17
... dear time's waste : Then can I drown an eye , unused to flow , For precious friends hid in death's date- less night , And weep afresh love's long - since - can- celled woe , And moan the expense of many a van- ished sight . Then can I ...
... dear time's waste : Then can I drown an eye , unused to flow , For precious friends hid in death's date- less night , And weep afresh love's long - since - can- celled woe , And moan the expense of many a van- ished sight . Then can I ...
Pagina 18
... dear , Made old offences of affections new . Most true it is , that I have looked on truth Askance and strangely ; but , by all above , These blenches gave my heart another youth , And worse essays proved thee my best of love . Now all ...
... dear , Made old offences of affections new . Most true it is , that I have looked on truth Askance and strangely ; but , by all above , These blenches gave my heart another youth , And worse essays proved thee my best of love . Now all ...
Pagina 22
... be . " " I winna come down , ye fause Gordon , I winna come down to thee ; I winna forsake my ain dear lord , - And he is na far frae me . " - " Gie owre your house , ye lady fair , 22 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES . EDOM O' GORDON.
... be . " " I winna come down , ye fause Gordon , I winna come down to thee ; I winna forsake my ain dear lord , - And he is na far frae me . " - " Gie owre your house , ye lady fair , 22 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES . EDOM O' GORDON.
Pagina 23
... dear babes , My lord sall mak ' ye dree . " Now reach my pistol , Glaud , my man , And charge ye weel my gun ; For , but an I pierce that bluidy butcher , My babes , we been undone ! " She stood upon her castle wa ' , And let twa ...
... dear babes , My lord sall mak ' ye dree . " Now reach my pistol , Glaud , my man , And charge ye weel my gun ; For , but an I pierce that bluidy butcher , My babes , we been undone ! " She stood upon her castle wa ' , And let twa ...
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Termeni și expresii frecvente
angels beauty BEGONE DULL CARE bells beneath bird blessed bliss bonnie Braes breast breath bright busk calm Christabel clouds dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth EDMUND SPENSER Edom eternal eyes face fair fear flowers frae Glenlogie glory golden grace grave green Grongar Hill hand hast hath hear heard heart heaven hill holy hour Hymn Inchcape Rock JOHN BYROM Kilmeny kiss lady land lassie light live Lochaber lonely look Lord maun mind morning mourn ne'er never night o'er praise rest rose round Saint Agnes SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE scorn shade shine shore sigh sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars sweet tears tell thee thine thou art thought tree unto vale voice wandering waves weary weel ween weep wild WILLIAM SHENSTONE wind wings Yarrow
Pasaje populare
Pagina 125 - But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail ; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
Pagina 66 - Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side; But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all: And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Pagina 209 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Pagina 30 - 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 you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
Pagina 125 - For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
Pagina 160 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags Plying her needle and thread — Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! In poverty, hunger and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, Would that its tone could reach the rich ! She sang this "Song of the Shirt.
Pagina 223 - Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea,
Pagina 37 - The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
Pagina 97 - No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng, The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep, And all the earth is gay...
Pagina 223 - Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn!