The casquet of literature, a selection in poetry and prose, ed. with notes by C. Gibbon, Volumes 1-21873 |
From inside the book
Results 1-5 of 80
Page 4
... cried Ivanhoe ; " for our dear Lady's sake , tell me which has fallen ? " sieged have the better . " " Saint George ... cries which you hear tell the fate of the others - alas ! I see that it is still more difficult to look upon victory ...
... cried Ivanhoe ; " for our dear Lady's sake , tell me which has fallen ? " sieged have the better . " " Saint George ... cries which you hear tell the fate of the others - alas ! I see that it is still more difficult to look upon victory ...
Page 5
... cried Ivanhoe ; " Glory , maiden , glory ! which gilds our sepulchre and embalms our name . " " " " Glory ! " continued Rebecca , " alas ! is the rusted mail which hangs as a hatchment over the champion's dim and mouldering tomb - is ...
... cried Ivanhoe ; " Glory , maiden , glory ! which gilds our sepulchre and embalms our name . " " " " Glory ! " continued Rebecca , " alas ! is the rusted mail which hangs as a hatchment over the champion's dim and mouldering tomb - is ...
Page 12
... cried out , " Here is the very best I can do , and I am carrying it to Prescott , as a reward of merit for having given me my first dinner in America . I stand by this book , and am willing to leave it , when I go , as my card . " As he ...
... cried out , " Here is the very best I can do , and I am carrying it to Prescott , as a reward of merit for having given me my first dinner in America . I stand by this book , and am willing to leave it , when I go , as my card . " As he ...
Page 46
... white temples , and almost cried , and though too frightened to run away , shrank back , till she was fairly hidden behind her 66 portly aunt ; so that that performance was per- 46 LITTLE RACHEL . Leigh Hunt Leigh Hunt Little Rachel.
... white temples , and almost cried , and though too frightened to run away , shrank back , till she was fairly hidden behind her 66 portly aunt ; so that that performance was per- 46 LITTLE RACHEL . Leigh Hunt Leigh Hunt Little Rachel.
Page 54
... cried aloud , Liberty ! Indignation Answered Pity from her cave : Death grew pale within the grave , And Desolation ... cries : Give me , thy child , dominion Over all height and depth ? if Life can breed New wants , and Wealth from ...
... cried aloud , Liberty ! Indignation Answered Pity from her cave : Death grew pale within the grave , And Desolation ... cries : Give me , thy child , dominion Over all height and depth ? if Life can breed New wants , and Wealth from ...
Contents
316 | |
323 | |
351 | |
371 | |
387 | |
24 | |
27 | |
89 | |
96 | |
105 | |
114 | |
120 | |
129 | |
154 | |
160 | |
165 | |
174 | |
180 | |
184 | |
212 | |
258 | |
267 | |
273 | |
278 | |
287 | |
291 | |
298 | |
306 | |
37 | |
48 | |
53 | |
59 | |
61 | |
69 | |
83 | |
92 | |
160 | |
165 | |
170 | |
184 | |
195 | |
199 | |
205 | |
211 | |
237 | |
272 | |
290 | |
299 | |
Other editions - View all
Common terms and phrases
Amel Andrew Waddell appeared arms Athenæum Club beautiful birds called Cardo CASQUET child Cleora cried dark dear death delight door Dora dream earth eyes face father fear feel fire Flashman followed Frederick Hume gave George Withers girl give hand happy head hear heard heart heaven honour hope hour Hume husband Ivanhoe JACQUES JASMIN John Brown knew lady leave Leosthenes light living London look Lord Byron Masaniello mind morning mother nature Nettie never night o'er once passed poet poor replied Richard Sale Rip Van Winkle Romelli round seemed silent sleep smile soon soul spirit stood Surbiton sure sweet tears tell thee things thou thought Timoleon tion told took turned voice wife wild woman wonder words young youth
Popular passages
Page 49 - Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays; But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.
Page 83 - AT midnight, in his guarded tent, The Turk was dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, Should tremble at his power ; In dreams, through camp and court, he bore The trophies of a conqueror ; In dreams his song of triumph heard. Then wore his monarch's signet ring, Then pressed that monarch's throne — a King ; As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, As Eden's garden bird.
Page 49 - Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
Page 364 - His dews drop mutely on the hill, His cloud above it saileth still, Though on its slope men sow and reap : More softly than the dew is shed, Or cloud is floated overhead, He giveth His beloved — sleep.
Page 6 - Leave to the nightingale her shady wood ; A privacy of glorious light is thine; Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood Of harmony, with instinct more divine; Type of the wise who soar, but never roam; True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home...
Page 49 - Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain To thy high requiem become a sod.
Page 23 - How sleep the brave who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung ; By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there ! ODE TO MERCY.
Page 49 - I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But in embalmed darkness guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild...
Page 269 - O'er each fair sleeping brow ; She had each folded flower in sight — Where are those dreamers now ? One, 'midst the forests of the West, By a dark stream is laid — The Indian knows his place of rest, Far in the cedar shade.
Page 73 - Rip recollected. The very character of the people seemed changed. There was a busy, bustling, disputatious tone about it, instead of the accustomed phlegm and drowsy tranquillity.