Young. Churchill. Lloyd. Falconer. Thomson

Predný obal
A. Miller, 1800
 

Čo hovoria ostatní - Napísať recenziu

Na obvyklých miestach sme nenašli žiadne recenzie.

Iné vydania - Zobraziť všetky

Časté výrazy a frázy

Populárne pasáže

Strana 197 - THE CURFEW tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Strana 199 - One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath and near his favourite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; 'The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Strana 197 - Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the Poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave Await alike th' inevitable hour : — The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Strana 199 - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Strana 477 - Christian kings, inflam'd by black desire, With honourable ruffians in their hire, Cause war to rage, and blood around to pour : Of this sad work when each begins to tire, They sit them down just where they were before, Till for new scenes of woe peace shall their force restore.
Strana 197 - Each in his narrow cell forever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
Strana 477 - Of all the gentle tenants of the place, There was a man of special grave remark : A certain tender gloom o'erspread his face, Pensive, not sad ; in thought...
Strana 434 - Ah little think they, while they dance along, How many feel, this very moment, death And all the sad variety of pain. How many sink in the devouring flood, Or more devouring flame. How many bleed, By shameful variance betwixt man and man. How many pine in want, and dungeon glooms; Shut from the common air, and common use Of their own limbs.
Strana 115 - It is their funeral knell ! and gliding near Methinks the phantoms of the dead appear ; But lo ! emerging from the watery grave Again they float incumbent on the wave, Again the dismal prospect opens round, — The wreck, the shore, the dying, and the drown'd...
Strana 199 - Here rests his head upon the lap of earth A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown: Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth, And melancholy mark'd him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere...

Bibliografické informácie