Select Readings from the Poets and Prose Writers of Every CountryJames Fleming Simpkin, Marshall & Company, 1866 - 352 pages |
From inside the book
Results 1-5 of 30
Page 13
... dead . Oh your sweet eyes , your low replies ; A great enchantress you may be ; But there was that across his throat Which you had hardly cared to see . Lady Clara Vere de Vere , When thus he met his mother's view , She had the passions ...
... dead . Oh your sweet eyes , your low replies ; A great enchantress you may be ; But there was that across his throat Which you had hardly cared to see . Lady Clara Vere de Vere , When thus he met his mother's view , She had the passions ...
Page 26
... dead , their spirits fled , And now at rest in heaven ; 99 ' Twas throwing words away , for still The little maid would have her will , And said , 66 Nay , we are seven . " W. WORDSWORTH . THE DIGNITY OF LABOUR . THERE is dignity in ...
... dead , their spirits fled , And now at rest in heaven ; 99 ' Twas throwing words away , for still The little maid would have her will , And said , 66 Nay , we are seven . " W. WORDSWORTH . THE DIGNITY OF LABOUR . THERE is dignity in ...
Page 51
... dead ; And hence the grey moss on the apple tree . One once dwelt there who had been in his youth A soldier ; and when many years were passed , He sought his native village , and sat down To THE RUINED COTTAGE . 51 The Ruined Cottage.
... dead ; And hence the grey moss on the apple tree . One once dwelt there who had been in his youth A soldier ; and when many years were passed , He sought his native village , and sat down To THE RUINED COTTAGE . 51 The Ruined Cottage.
Page 89
... dead , Though hard I strove , but strove in vain , To rend and gnash my bonds in twain . He died , and they unlock'd his chain , And scoop'd for him a hollow grave Even from the cold earth of our cave . I begg'd them , as a boon , to ...
... dead , Though hard I strove , but strove in vain , To rend and gnash my bonds in twain . He died , and they unlock'd his chain , And scoop'd for him a hollow grave Even from the cold earth of our cave . I begg'd them , as a boon , to ...
Page 147
... dead that slumbers , And things are not what they seem . Life is real ! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal ! " Dust thou art , to dust returnest , " Was not spoken of the soul . Not enjoyment , and not sorrow , Is our ...
... dead that slumbers , And things are not what they seem . Life is real ! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal ! " Dust thou art , to dust returnest , " Was not spoken of the soul . Not enjoyment , and not sorrow , Is our ...
Common terms and phrases
1ST CITIZEN 2ND CITIZEN ANTONY Balaam bells beneath bird blessed Bolus brave breath bright Brutus Cæsar CALIFORN CHARLES MACKAY child Clara Vere Cleon cottage cried dark dear death deep door dust to dust dying earth ELIZA COOK Emma eyes fair father fear fire flowers gentle glory grace grave grief hand hath head hear heard heart heaven honour John Brown king Labour lady Lars Porsena light live look Mark Antony MAUD MULLER mighty heart morning mother never Nevermore night o'er poor praise pray pride Queen Quoth Quoth the Raven reply round sing sleep smile song soul sound Speak gently spirit stood sweet tears tell thee There's thing thou thought toil Twas Vere de Vere vicar of Bray voice waves weary weep wife wild woman of mind word
Popular passages
Page 350 - When even at last the solemn hour shall come, And wing my mystic flight to future worlds, I cheerful will obey; there, with new powers, Will rising wonders sing. I cannot go Where universal love not smiles around, Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns; From seeming evil still educing good, And better thence again, and better still, In infinite progression.
Page 171 - Brutus' love to Caesar was no less than his. If, then, that friend demand why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer: Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more.
Page 45 - Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory; But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Page 178 - I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts: I am no orator, as Brutus is; But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, That love my friend; and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him: For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood...
Page 22 - Why had they come to wither there, Away from their childhood's land ? There was woman's fearless eye, Lit by her deep love's truth ; There was manhood's brow, serenely high, And the fiery heart of youth. What sought they thus afar ? Bright jewels of the mine ? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war ? They sought a faith's pure shrine ! Ay, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod ; They have left unstained what there they found — Freedom to worship God.
Page 177 - O, now you weep ; and, I perceive, you feel The dint of pity ; these are gracious drops ; Kind souls ! What; weep you, when you but behold Our Ceesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here, Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors.
Page 74 - The world recedes: it disappears! Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears With sounds seraphic ring: Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O Grave! where is thy Victory? O Death! where is thy Sting.
Page 350 - Should fate command me to the farthest verge Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes, Rivers unknown to song, — where first the sun Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam Flames on the Atlantic isles, — 'tis naught to me : Since God is ever present, ever felt, In the void waste, as in the city full ; And where he vital breathes, there must be joy.
Page 225 - THE stately Homes of England, How beautiful they stand! Amidst their tall ancestral trees, O'er all the pleasant land. The deer across their greensward bound, Through shade and sunny gleam, And the swan glides past them with the sound Of some rejoicing stream. The merry Homes of England! Around their hearths by night, What gladsome looks of household love Meet in the ruddy light ! There woman's voice flows forth in song, Or childhood's tale is told, Or lips move tunefully along Some glorious page...
Page 295 - Wherein you dress'd yourself ? hath it slept since ? And wakes it now, to look so green and pale At what it did so freely ? From this time, Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valour, As thou art in desire ? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem' st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting I dare not wait upon I would, Like the poor cat i