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Deighton, 1866 - 279页
 

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第224页 - Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
第188页 - Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, Without the meed of some melodious tear. Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well, That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring; Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string.
第190页 - And all their echoes, mourn: The willows and the hazel copses green Shall now no more be seen Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays : — As killing as the canker to the rose, Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear When first the white-thorn blows; Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear.
第212页 - IF all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love.
第202页 - Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves Where other groves and other streams along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, And hears th' unexpressive nuptial song, In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love.
第210页 - And I will make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle.
第206页 - Druid, hoary chief; every burning word he spoke full of rage, and full of grief: ' Princess ! if our aged eyes weep upon thy matchless wrongs, '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 - The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But, swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread; Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said. But that two-handed engine at the door 130 Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
第186页 - Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude, Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.
第238页 - Tis brightness all ; save where the new snow melts Along the mazy current. Low the woods Bow their hoar head ; and ere the languid sun, Faint from the west, emits his evening ray, Earth's universal face, deep hid and chill, Is one wild dazzling waste, that buries wide The works of man.

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