The book of recitations [ed.] by C.W. Smith |
Des de l'interior del llibre
Resultats 1 - 5 de 42.
Pàgina 2
... wave that for ever devours the wave , Casts roaringly up the Charybdis again ; And as with the swell of the far thunder - boom , Rushes foamingly forth from the heart of the gloom . And it bubbles and seethes , and it hisses and roars ...
... wave that for ever devours the wave , Casts roaringly up the Charybdis again ; And as with the swell of the far thunder - boom , Rushes foamingly forth from the heart of the gloom . And it bubbles and seethes , and it hisses and roars ...
Pàgina 3
... wave ! Like the growth of a storm ever louder and clearer , Grows the roar of the gulf rising nearer and nearer ... waves as a trophy the goblet of gold ! And he breathed deep , and he breathëd long , And he greeted the heavenly delight ...
... wave ! Like the growth of a storm ever louder and clearer , Grows the roar of the gulf rising nearer and nearer ... waves as a trophy the goblet of gold ! And he breathed deep , and he breathëd long , And he greeted the heavenly delight ...
Pàgina 5
... wave seized me once more , It seized me to save me , and dash to the shore . " On the youth gazed the monarch , and marvelled : quoth he , " Bold diver , the goblet I promised is thine ; And this ring I will give , a fresh guerdon to ...
... wave seized me once more , It seized me to save me , and dash to the shore . " On the youth gazed the monarch , and marvelled : quoth he , " Bold diver , the goblet I promised is thine ; And this ring I will give , a fresh guerdon to ...
Pàgina 6
... wave ever brings the lost youth to the shore ! THE SOLDIER'S WIDOW . BY WILLIS . WOE for my vine - clad home ! That it should ever be so dark to me , With its bright threshold and its whispering tree ! That I should ever come , Fearing ...
... wave ever brings the lost youth to the shore ! THE SOLDIER'S WIDOW . BY WILLIS . WOE for my vine - clad home ! That it should ever be so dark to me , With its bright threshold and its whispering tree ! That I should ever come , Fearing ...
Pàgina 10
... waves of Nar . Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus Into the stream beneath : Herminius struck at Seius , And clove him to the teeth : At Picus brave Horatius Darted one fiery thrust ; And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms Clashed in the ...
... waves of Nar . Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus Into the stream beneath : Herminius struck at Seius , And clove him to the teeth : At Picus brave Horatius Darted one fiery thrust ; And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms Clashed in the ...
Frases i termes més freqüents
Absalom arms battle beauty beneath blood bosom bowed brave breast breath bright brother brow Cæsar clouds cold cried customed hill dark dead death deep dread dream earth Eleonora di Toledo EUGENE ARAM fair falchion father fear fell gazed Gelert gold grave hand hast hath head hear heard heart heaven hour Inchcape Rock Jaspar Julius Cæsar king knew Lars Porsena light lips live Lochiel lonely look Lord William loud Macgregor moon morn never Nevermore night numbers o'er once pale pride proud Quoth Quoth the Raven rock rose round Samian wine sate shone shore shout sigh silent slave sleep smile song soul Souliotes sound spake spirit steed stood stream strong sweet sword tears Thaïs thee thine thou thought Twas victorious bands voice wave weary weep wild wind young youth
Passatges populars
Pàgina 211 - Wept o'er his wounds or tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began.
Pàgina 130 - Be that word our sign of parting, bird, or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting: "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! Quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
Pàgina 275 - 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...
Pàgina 19 - Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.
Pàgina 282 - With a bare bodkin ? who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life ; But that the dread of something after death, — The undiscovered country, from whose bourn No traveller returns, — puzzles the will ; And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all...
Pàgina 260 - Though justice be thy plea, consider this, That, in the course of justice, none of us Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy; And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mercy.
Pàgina 63 - On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow ; And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.
Pàgina 278 - tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature Possess it merely. That it should come to this! But two months dead: nay, not so much, not two: So excellent a king; that was, to this, Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly.
Pàgina 274 - This is the state of man : To-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hopes ; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; And, — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.
Pàgina 210 - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild ; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place.