The Select Poetical WorksPhillips & Sampson, 1848 - 406 pagina's |
Vanuit het boek
Resultaten 1-5 van 37
Pagina 6
... would sometimes fall out of the boat , as though by accident , when the dog would seize him , and drag him on shore . In 1808 his lordship lost his favorite dog , and he caused a monument to be 6 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR .
... would sometimes fall out of the boat , as though by accident , when the dog would seize him , and drag him on shore . In 1808 his lordship lost his favorite dog , and he caused a monument to be 6 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR .
Pagina 23
... . Three days , three sleepless nights , the Chief For Oscar searched each mountain cave ; Then hope is lost ; in boundless grief , His locks in gray - torn ringlets wave . 23 " Oscar ! my son ! - thou God of HOURS OF IDLENESS .
... . Three days , three sleepless nights , the Chief For Oscar searched each mountain cave ; Then hope is lost ; in boundless grief , His locks in gray - torn ringlets wave . 23 " Oscar ! my son ! - thou God of HOURS OF IDLENESS .
Pagina 75
... lost may in future redeem you , Repentance will cancel the vow you have made . I will not complain , and though chilled is affection , With me no corroding resentment shall live : My bosom is calmed by the simple reflection , That both ...
... lost may in future redeem you , Repentance will cancel the vow you have made . I will not complain , and though chilled is affection , With me no corroding resentment shall live : My bosom is calmed by the simple reflection , That both ...
Pagina 76
... lost , Or told my love , with hope grown bolder . Sixteen was then our utmost age , Two years have lingering past away , love ! And now new thoughts our minds engage , At least I feel disposed to stray , love ! " Tis I that am alone to ...
... lost , Or told my love , with hope grown bolder . Sixteen was then our utmost age , Two years have lingering past away , love ! And now new thoughts our minds engage , At least I feel disposed to stray , love ! " Tis I that am alone to ...
Pagina 86
... lost in gentle sleep , Forgot to smile , or ceased to weep : At this lone hour , the Paphian boy , Descending from the realms of joy , Quick to my gate directs his course , And knocks with all his little force . My visions fled ...
... lost in gentle sleep , Forgot to smile , or ceased to weep : At this lone hour , the Paphian boy , Descending from the realms of joy , Quick to my gate directs his course , And knocks with all his little force . My visions fled ...
Inhoudsopgave
19 | |
31 | |
38 | |
45 | |
51 | |
57 | |
59 | |
66 | |
72 | |
78 | |
84 | |
102 | |
111 | |
117 | |
128 | |
142 | |
151 | |
157 | |
165 | |
203 | |
210 | |
216 | |
278 | |
286 | |
292 | |
298 | |
305 | |
312 | |
318 | |
351 | |
383 | |
389 | |
396 | |
402 | |
Overige edities - Alles bekijken
Veelvoorkomende woorden en zinsdelen
art thou bard beam beauty behold beneath bless blest blood bosom breast breath brow Calmar canst CATULLUS charms cheek chief cold dare dark dead dear death deep dread dream dwell e'en earth expire fair fairy bowers falchion fame fate fear feel flow fond forget friendship gaze glory glow grave Greece grief hate hath heart heaven hope hour immortal kiss Latian live Lochlin Lord Byron lyre Mathon mind mingle Morven mourn muse NAPOLEON BONAPARTE ne'er never NEWFOUNDLAND DOG NEWSTEAD ABBEY night numbers o'er once Orla Oscar pangs perchance praise pride Probus remembrance rise roll Samian wine scene seek shade shine shore sigh sleep slumber smile soar soft song soothe sorrow soul spirit strain sweet tears thee thine thou art thou hast thou wert thought throng trembling truth voice wandering wave weep wild wings youth
Populaire passages
Pagina 318 - Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave. A king sate on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis ; And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations — all were his ! He counted them at break of day — And when the sun set, where were they?
Pagina 214 - 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.
Pagina 319 - Must we but weep o'er days more blest ? Must we but blush ?— Our fathers bled. Earth ! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead ! Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylae...
Pagina 192 - Twas thine own genius gave the final blow, And helped to plant the wound that laid thee low. So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart, And winged the shaft that quivered in his heart. Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel, He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel „ While the same plumage that had warmed his nest, Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast.
Pagina 320 - Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! On Suli's rock and Parga's shore Exists the remnant of a line Such as the Doric mothers bore ; And there, perhaps, some seed is sown The Heracleidan blood might own.
Pagina 265 - Adieu, adieu ! my native shore Fades o'er the waters blue ; The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, And shrieks the wild sea-mew. Yon sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight: Farewell awhile to him and thee, My native Land— Good Night!
Pagina 332 - O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea, Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, Survey our empire, and behold our home!
Pagina 240 - Had wander'd from its dwelling, and her eyes They had not their own lustre, but the look Which is not of the earth; she was become The queen of a fantastic realm; her thoughts Were combinations of disjointed things; And forms impalpable and unperceived Of others
Pagina 320 - Trust not for freedom to the Franks — They have a king who buys and sells: In native swords, and native ranks, The only hope of courage dwells ; But Turkish force and Latin fraud Would break your shield, however broad.
Pagina 214 - And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail...