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ancient Ang.-Sax beauty beneath Blackwood's Magazine blood breath bright Byron Canterbury Tales century Chaucer clouds Clusium Coleridge dark death Decemviri deep delight doth dread earth England English ENGLISH POETRY eyes fair fame father feeling flowers French genius glory golden grace green hand hast hath hear heart heaven Henry of Navarre hill honour House of Fame Hudibras James king Lady language Lars Porsena light literature live look Lord Macb Macbeth Milton mind MIRROR FOR MAGISTRATES muse nature never night noble o'er Othello Ovid Paradise Lost passion poem poet poet's poetical poetry praise Queen round scene Scotland Scott Scottish sight sing sleep smile song soul sound spirit spring stanza stars sweet tears tell thee thine things thought throne verse voice waves wild wind wing word writings youth
第130页 - FEAR no more the heat o' the sun, Nor the furious winter's rages: Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o' the great : Thou art past the tyrant's stroke.
第457页 - twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet...
第93页 - His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice. Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all. That ends this strange eventful history. Is second childishness and mere oblivion; Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything".
第574页 - Tis the wind, and nothing more.' Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven, of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door; Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door, Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,...
第378页 - Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might ; I only have relinquished one delight To live beneath your more habitual sway. I love the Brooks which down their channels fret, Even more than when I tripped lightly as they ; The innocent brightness of a new-born Day Is lovely yet ; The Clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober colouring from an eye That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality ; Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
第458页 - And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips - 'The foe! they come! they come!
第552页 - Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done When the clock struck the hour for retiring ; And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.
第90页 - It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes, Tis mightiest in the mightiest, it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown. His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings: But mercy is above this sceptred sway, It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice...
第378页 - What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower ; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind ; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be ; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering ; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind.