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ABRAHAM Cowley BATTLE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT beauty BEN Jonson beneath bird Bishop Bruno born brave breast breath bright cloud dark death deep delight died dost doth dream earth eyes fair fame fear flowers fool gentle give glory golden grace green hand happy Hark hast hath hear heard heart heaven Henry HENRY WADsworth LoNGFEllow honour hope hour John Milton King L’ALLEGRO land LEIGH HUNT light live look Lord maid merry Michael DRAYToN morning motley fool mountain ne'er never night noble numbers o'er poem poet praise pride Queen Mab Robert HERRick Robert SouthEy Robin round Rule Britannia shade sing sleep smile soft song soul sound spirit spring stars storm Summer Moon sweet Tell thee thine things THOMAS CAMPBELL thou thought trees voice waves wild WILLIAM SHAkspeaRE William Wordsworth wind wings Wordsworth
第197页 - Gathering" rose! The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills Have heard; and heard, too, have her Saxon foes: — How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, Savage and shrill ! But with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers With the fierce native daring which instils The stirring memory of a thousand years, And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears!
第214页 - Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard and the sea; And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free...
第102页 - For e'en though vanquished, he could argue still; While words of learned length, and thund'ring sound, Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around — And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, That one small head could carry all he knew.
第30页 - O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife ; and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep : Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners...
第205页 - Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear, Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.
第30页 - Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs ; The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; The traces, of the smallest spider's web ; The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams : Her whip, of cricket's bone ; the lash, of film : Her...
第105页 - Tis because resentment ties All the terrors of our tongues. Rome shall perish, — write that word In the blood that she has spilt; Perish hopeless and abhorred, Deep in ruin as in guilt.
第198页 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest With his martial cloak around him.