An Introduction to Latin Elegiac Verse Composition: With Vocabulary

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Macmillan, 1903 - 209页
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第156页 - Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more.
第178页 - What but thy grace can foil the tempter's power ? Who, like thyself, my guide and stay can be ? Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me.
第176页 - Abide with me from morn till eve, for without thee I cannot live; abide with me when night is nigh, for without thee I dare not die.
第179页 - Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes; Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies: Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee; In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me!
第171页 - The calm retreat, the silent shade, With prayer and praise agree ; And seem by thy sweet bounty made For those who follow thee.
第124页 - She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, And lovers around her are sighing; But coldly she turns from their gaze and weeps, For her heart in his grave is lying.
第171页 - What thanks I owe thee, and what love, A boundless, endless store, Shall echo through the realms above, When time shall be no more.
第158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167页 - I have naught that is fair ?" saith he ; "Have naught but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me I will give them all back again." He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves ; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves.
第140页 - CALL it not vain ¡—they do not err, Who say, that when the Poet dies, Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, And celebrates his obsequies : Who say, tall cliff, and cavern lone, For the departed Bard make moan ; That mountains weep in crystal rill ; That flowers in tears of balm distil ; Through his loved groves that breezes sigh, And oaks, in deeper groan, reply; And rivers teach their rushing wave To murmur dirges round his grave.

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