The Southern literary messenger, 第 8 卷 |
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admiration American appeared arms beautiful become believe better British called cause character close command course dark death deep duty earth effect England equal Everington existence eyes face fact fair fear feeling felt force friends give given hand happiness head heard heart hope hour human important interest Italy kind known land learned leave less light living look manner means meet ment mind moral nature never night object observed officers once passed persons poet possess present reason received rest seemed seen ships side soon soul speak spirit stand sweet taken thee thing thou thought tion true truth turned vessels voice whole wish young youth
热门引用章节
第25页 - The voice at midnight came, He started up to hear ; A mortal arrow pierced his frame — He fell, but felt no fear.
第43页 - Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed, Pensive awhile, she dreams awake, and sees, In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed, But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled.
第59页 - MAIDENHOOD. mAIDEN ! with the meek brown eyes, In whose orbs a shadow lies, Like the dusk in evening skies ! Thou whose locks outshine the sun, Golden tresses, wreathed in one, As the braided streamlets run ! Standing, with reluctant feet, Where the brook and river meet, Womanhood and childhood fleet...
第249页 - But to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free. Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word; And in its hollow tones are heard The thanks of millions yet to be. Come when his task of fame is wrought; Come with her laurel-leaf...
第42页 - While he from forth the closet brought a heap Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd, With jellies soother than the creamy curd, And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon, Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'd From Fez, and spiced dainties, every one, From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon.
第155页 - 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.
第304页 - And wi' the lave ilk merry morn Could rank my rig and lass, Still shearing, and clearing The tither stocked raw, Wi' claivers, an' haivers, Wearing the day awa : Ev'n then a wish, (I mind its power,) A wish that to my latest hour Shall strongly heave my breast ; That I for poor auld Scotland's sake, Some usefu' plan, or beuk could make, Or sing a sang at least.
第43页 - St Agnes' Eve — Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold ; The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold : Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told His rosary, and while his frosted breath, Like pious incense from a censer old, Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death, Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith...
第84页 - No, faith, not a jot ; but to follow him thither with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it: As thus; Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth to dust ; the dust is earth ; of earth we make loam : And why of that loam, whereto he was converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel...
第247页 - Strong sense, deep feeling, passions strong, A hate of tyrant and of knave, A love of right, a scorn of wrong, Of coward and of slave ; A kind, true heart, a spirit high, That could not fear and would not bow, Were written in his manly eye And on his manly brow.