Select specimens of English poetryLongman, Brown, Green, & Longmans, 1856 |
From inside the book
Results 1-5 of 62
Page xi
... Morning 12. Evening 235 Beattie Byron 236 13. The Study and Beauties of the Works of Nature 14. Lucy 15 An April Day 16. Ode on the Spring 17. The Jackdaw 24. A May Day Song W. C. Bennett 253 25. The World is too much with us 254 ...
... Morning 12. Evening 235 Beattie Byron 236 13. The Study and Beauties of the Works of Nature 14. Lucy 15 An April Day 16. Ode on the Spring 17. The Jackdaw 24. A May Day Song W. C. Bennett 253 25. The World is too much with us 254 ...
Page 15
... 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 ? The Pilgrim Fathers ...
... 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 ? The Pilgrim Fathers ...
Page 26
... morning , When the great trump shall thrill thee with its warning . Why should this worthless tegument * endure , If its undying guest be lost for ever ? O ! let us keep the soul embalmed and pure In living virtue , that when both must ...
... morning , When the great trump shall thrill thee with its warning . Why should this worthless tegument * endure , If its undying guest be lost for ever ? O ! let us keep the soul embalmed and pure In living virtue , that when both must ...
Page 47
... morning , evidently with the design of giving battle . ' I have them , these English ! ' said he , Nine chances out of ten are in our favour . ' ' Sire , ' replied Soult , ' I know these English ; they will die on the ground on which ...
... morning , evidently with the design of giving battle . ' I have them , these English ! ' said he , Nine chances out of ten are in our favour . ' ' Sire , ' replied Soult , ' I know these English ; they will die on the ground on which ...
Page 49
... morning star ; While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb , 49 Or whispering , with white lips- " The foe ! they come , they come ! " And wild and high the " Cameron's gathering " rose ! The war - note of Lochiel , which Albyn's ...
... morning star ; While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb , 49 Or whispering , with white lips- " The foe ! they come , they come ! " And wild and high the " Cameron's gathering " rose ! The war - note of Lochiel , which Albyn's ...
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Common terms and phrases
Arouse thee BARRY CORNWALL battle BATTLE OF KILLIECRANKIE beauty beneath BERNARD BARTON birds bless blow brave breast breath bright cheer Cleon clouds dark dead death deep delight Derivations doth dread dream earth ELIZA COOK ellipsis England English Poetry Etymology father fear feel flowers geography give glorious glory glow grave green Greenwich Hospital hand happy hath hear heard heart heaven honour hope hour human HUMPHREY GILBERT John Herschel king labour land light live look Lord mighty mind morning mountains nature never night noble o'er ocean Patrick Spence peace pleasure Pompey prayer rocks round RUNNEMEDE sail Samian wine shine ship shore sing sleep smile song sorrow soul sound spirit spring star storm sweet Syntax tear tempest thine things thought toil Twas voice waves wild wind wings words youth
Popular passages
Page 49 - And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed. The mustering squadron, and the clattering car. Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war...
Page 194 - And sweep through the deep While the stormy winds do blow, — While the battle rages loud and long And the stormy winds do blow ! The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave : For the deck it was their field of fame, And ocean was their grave. Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep While the stormy winds do blow, — While the battle rages loud and long And the stormy winds do blow.
Page 39 - And his droop'd head sinks gradually low — And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now The arena swims around him — he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch who won. He heard it, but he heeded not — his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away...
Page 281 - We look before and after, And pine for what is not; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Page 274 - Man that is born of a woman Is of few days, and full of trouble. He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down : He fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth not.
Page 337 - For a thousand years in thy sight Are but as yesterday when it is past, And as a watch in the night. Thou carriest them away as with a flood ; they are as a sleep : In the morning they are like grass which groweth up. In the morning it flourisheth, and groweth up ; In the evening it is cut down, and withereth.
Page 352 - And he was in the hinder part of the ship, asleep on a pillow : and they awake him, and say unto him, Master, carest thou not that we perish ? 39 And he arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.
Page 75 - Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not: Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr!
Page 124 - It sounds to him like her mother's voice Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes.
Page 117 - 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.