Every Day in the Year: A Poetical Epitome of the World's HistoryJames Lauren Ford, Mary K. Ford Dodd, Mead, 1902 - 443 strán (strany) |
Vyhľadávanie v obsahu knihy
Výsledky 1 - 5 z 100.
Strana 6
... till its red wine splashes : But shrieks at the draught as she drinks it up- Her wine has been turned to blood and ashes . We know her - our Sister ! Come on the storm ! God send it soon and sudden upon her : The race she has shattered ...
... till its red wine splashes : But shrieks at the draught as she drinks it up- Her wine has been turned to blood and ashes . We know her - our Sister ! Come on the storm ! God send it soon and sudden upon her : The race she has shattered ...
Strana 16
... Till o'er the fields the new moon's syckle stood . I've heard calm words of courtly broth- erhood Chime like an Angelus through the ages dim , And they , whom all else honored , hon- ered him , My Spenser , votary of the Holy Rood ...
... Till o'er the fields the new moon's syckle stood . I've heard calm words of courtly broth- erhood Chime like an Angelus through the ages dim , And they , whom all else honored , hon- ered him , My Spenser , votary of the Holy Rood ...
Strana 19
... Till Helmund or till Indus ran with blood , And back , towards the Northlands and the Night The stricken Eagles scattered from the field . -Andrew Lang . ST . ANTHONY'S SERMON TO THE FISHES . St. Anthony at church Was left in the lurch ...
... Till Helmund or till Indus ran with blood , And back , towards the Northlands and the Night The stricken Eagles scattered from the field . -Andrew Lang . ST . ANTHONY'S SERMON TO THE FISHES . St. Anthony at church Was left in the lurch ...
Strana 28
... Till the boys were dead with their cheers ; And so , " said Burke with his glass in his hand , " God bless the burghers of Boerland ! " " And Blake left a leg there , " ' t was Kelly stood up . " They've scattered the Irish Brigade ...
... Till the boys were dead with their cheers ; And so , " said Burke with his glass in his hand , " God bless the burghers of Boerland ! " " And Blake left a leg there , " ' t was Kelly stood up . " They've scattered the Irish Brigade ...
Strana 32
... till the great Armadas come , EPIGRAM ON FRANCIS DRAKE . The stars above will make thee known , If man were silent here : The sun himself cannot forget His fellow - traveller . -Cowley , translated by Ben Jonson . January 29 . ON THE ...
... till the great Armadas come , EPIGRAM ON FRANCIS DRAKE . The stars above will make thee known , If man were silent here : The sun himself cannot forget His fellow - traveller . -Cowley , translated by Ben Jonson . January 29 . ON THE ...
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Every Day in the Year: A Poetical Epitome of the World's History James Lauren Ford,Mary K. Ford Úplné zobrazenie - 1902 |
Every Day in the Year: A Poetical Epitome of the World's History James Lauren Ford,Mary K. Ford Úplné zobrazenie - 1902 |
Časté výrazy a frázy
Alfred Tennyson banner battle beneath blood bold born brave breast breath bright brow Cæsar cannon cheer crown dare dark dead dear death deeds deep died dream drum earth Edmund Gosse England English eyes face fame fear Felicia Hemans fell fierce fight fire flag flame flowers fought Francis Saltus Saltus gallant glory grave guns hand hath head hear heard heart heaven hero honor John Boyle O'Reilly King land light lips living Lord Lord Byron March morning mourn never night o'er peace Philip Freneau praise proud Richard Watson Gilder roar rose round sail shine ship shore shot shout silent sing sleep smile song sorrow soul sound Spain spirit stars stood Swat sweet sword tears thee thine thou throne thunder Twas victory voice Wallace Rice wave weep wild William Makepeace Thackeray William Wordsworth
Populárne pasáže
Strana 122 - O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway The triple tyrant ; that from these may grow A hundredfold, who, having learnt thy way, Early may fly the Babylonian woe.
Strana 18 - NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried.
Strana 57 - He has outsoared the shadow of our night; Envy and calumny and hate and pain, And that unrest which men miscall delight, Can touch him not and torture not again...
Strana 117 - O Captain ! My Captain ! Our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.
Strana 327 - SUNSET and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For tho...
Strana 342 - Pr'ythee, lead me in : There take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny : 'tis the king's : my robe, And my integrity to heaven, is all I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, Had I but served my God with half the zeal I served my king, he would not in mine age Have left me naked to mine enemies.
Strana 406 - The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed; And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore.
Strana 342 - Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr!
Strana 380 - Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries, See the Furies arise : See the snakes that they rear, How they hiss in their hair, And the sparkles that flash from their eyes...
Strana 278 - AT midnight, in his guarded tent, The Turk was dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, Should tremble at his power ; In dreams, through camp and court, he bore The trophies of a conqueror ; In dreams his song of triumph heard. Then wore his monarch's signet ring, Then pressed that monarch's throne — a King ; As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, As Eden's garden bird.