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" And where are they ? And where art thou ? My Country ! On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now, The heroic bosom beats no more. And must thy lyre, so long divine... "
Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine - Pagina 98
1821
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The Home Book of Verse: American and English, 1580-1918

1918 - 4009 pagina’s
...must thy lyre, so long divine, 'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, Though linked among a fettered tevenson uv but blush? — Our fathers bled. Earth ! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan...
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The Great Tradition: A Book of Selections from English and American Prose ...

Edwin Almiron Greenlaw, James Holly Hanford - 1919 - 679 pagina’s
...Degenerate into hands like mine? 'T is something, in the dearth of fame, Though linked among a fettered ar nations, and passionate attachments for others, should be excluded; and t T Must we but blush ? — Our fathers bled. Earth! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our...
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Junior High School Literature ...

William Harris Elson, Christine M. Keck - 1920
...Degenerate into hands like mine? 15 'Tis something in the dearth of fame, Though linked among a fettered race, To feel at least a patriot's shame, Even as...sing, suffuse my face; For what is left the poet here? 20 For Greeks a blush—for Greece a tear. Must we but weep o'er days more blest? Must we but blush?—Our...
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The Elson Readers..: Book 5-8 ...

William Harris Elson - 1921
...heroic lay is tuneless now — 'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, Though linked among a fettered race, To feel at least a patriot's shame, Even as I sing, suffuse my face; 5 For what is left the poet here? For Greeks a blush — for Greece a tear. Must we but weep o'er days...
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The Elson Readers: (Revision of Elson grammar school reader, book four)

William Harris Elson, Christine M. Keck, Lura E. Runkel - 1921
...linked among a fettered race, To feel at least a patriot's shame, Even as I sing, suffuse my face; 5 For what is left the poet here? For Greeks a blush — for Greece a te:ir. Must we but weep o'er days more blest? Must we but blush? — Our fathers bled. Earth, render...
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An English Anthology of Prose and Poetry, Shewing the Main Stream of English ...

Sir Henry John Newbolt - 1922 - 1011 pagina’s
...long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine t 'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, Though link'd among a fetter'd race, To feel at least a patriot's...sing, suffuse my face ; For what is left the poet here t For Greeks a blush—for Greece a tear. Must we but weep o'er days more blest 51 Must we but blush...
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English Poetry of the Nineteenth Century: A Connected Representation of ...

George Roy Elliott, Norman Foerster - 1923 - 825 pagina’s
...into hands like mine? 'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, Though linked among a fettered race, 720 To feel at least a patriot's shame, Even as I sing,...Greece a tear. Must we but weep o'er days more blest? 725 Must we but blush? — Our fathers bled. Earth! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our...
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A Book of British and American Verse

Henry Van Dyke, Hardin Craig, Asa Don Dickinson - 1922 - 1908 pagina’s
...long divine. Degenerate into hands like mine? 'T is something, in the dearth of fame. Though link'd among a fetter'd race, To feel at least a patriot's shame. Even as I sing, suffuse my face ; The Isles of Greece For what is left the poet here? For Greeks a blush— for Greece a tear. 36 Must...
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The School of Poetry: An Anthology Chosen for Young Readers

Alice Meynell - 1923 - 241 pagina’s
...The heroic bosom beats no more ! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine ? To feel at least a patriot's shame, Even as I sing, suffuse my face; 'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, Though linked among a fettered race For what is left the poet...
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The Magic Carpet: Poems for Travelers Selected by Mrs. Waldo Richards...

Mrs. Waldo Richards - 1924 - 510 pagina’s
...long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine? 'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, Though link'd among a fetter'd race, To feel at least a patriot's...sing, suffuse my face; For what is left the poet here? Must we but blush? — Our fathers bled. Earth! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan...
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