The poetic reciter; or, Beauties of the British poets: adapted for reading and recitation, in public and private seminaries. Com piled by H. Marlen |
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Sida 68
In silence they reached over mountain and moor , To a heath , where the oak -
tree grew lonely and hoar : " Now here let us place the grey - stone of her cairn“
Why speak ye no word ! " - said Glenara the stern . “ And tell me , I charge you !
ye ...
In silence they reached over mountain and moor , To a heath , where the oak -
tree grew lonely and hoar : " Now here let us place the grey - stone of her cairn“
Why speak ye no word ! " - said Glenara the stern . “ And tell me , I charge you !
ye ...
Sida 79
It is not that my lot is low , That bids the silent tear to flow ; It is not grief that bids
me moan , It is that I am all alone . In woods and glens I love to roam , When the
tired hedger hies him home ; Or by the woodland pool to rest , When pale the star
...
It is not that my lot is low , That bids the silent tear to flow ; It is not grief that bids
me moan , It is that I am all alone . In woods and glens I love to roam , When the
tired hedger hies him home ; Or by the woodland pool to rest , When pale the star
...
Sida 133
Cheer me , my friends ! with looks of kindness cheer ; Whisper a word of comfort
in mine ear ; Those sorrowing faces fill my soul with gloom ; This silence is the
silence of the tomb . Thither I hasten ; help me on my way ; O sing to soothe me ...
Cheer me , my friends ! with looks of kindness cheer ; Whisper a word of comfort
in mine ear ; Those sorrowing faces fill my soul with gloom ; This silence is the
silence of the tomb . Thither I hasten ; help me on my way ; O sing to soothe me ...
Sida 192
Henry Marlen. But why do the matrons , while dressing the dead , Sit silent , and
look as if something they knew ? Why gaze on the features ? Why move they the
head , And point at the bosom so dappled and blue ? Say , was there foul play ?
Henry Marlen. But why do the matrons , while dressing the dead , Sit silent , and
look as if something they knew ? Why gaze on the features ? Why move they the
head , And point at the bosom so dappled and blue ? Say , was there foul play ?
Sida 229
But who can paint the lover as he stood , Pierced by severe amazement , hating
life , Speechless , and fixed in all the death of woe ? So , faint resemblance on
the marble tomb , The well - dissembled mourner stooping stands , For ever silent
...
But who can paint the lover as he stood , Pierced by severe amazement , hating
life , Speechless , and fixed in all the death of woe ? So , faint resemblance on
the marble tomb , The well - dissembled mourner stooping stands , For ever silent
...
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The Poetic Reciter; Or, Beauties of the British Poets: Adapted for Reading ... Henry Marlen Ingen förhandsgranskning - 2016 |
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arms beneath blessed bosom breast breath bright child cold cried dark dead dear death deep dread dream earth eternal face fair fall father fear feel field fire flowers give glory grave green hand hast hath head hear heard heart Heaven hope hour knew land leave light live look Lord lost meet mind morn mother Nature never night o'er once passed poor praise pride rest rise rose round scene seemed seen shade shore sigh silent sleep smile sorrow soul sound spirit stood stream sweet tears tell thee thine thing thou thought trembling turned Twas voice wandering waves weep wild wind wings wish young youth
Populära avsnitt
Sida 285 - When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept; Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says he was ambitious, And Brutus is an honourable man.
Sida 276 - Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries ; but thou hast forced me, Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of, say, I taught thee...
Sida 296 - 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...
Sida 64 - 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...
Sida 287 - 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...
Sida 65 - Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to Virtue's side; But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt, for all. And, as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Sida 285 - But yesterday the word of Caesar might Have stood against the world: now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence.
Sida 240 - Night, sable goddess ! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world. Silence how dead! and darkness how profound! Nor eye nor listening ear an object finds ; Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the general pulse Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause ; An awful pause! prophetic of her end.
Sida 240 - The bell strikes one. We take no note of time, But from its loss. To give it then a tongue Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, It is the, knell of my departed hours : Where are they?
Sida 159 - And e'en the bare-worn common is denied. If to the city sped — What waits him there? To see profusion that he must not share ; To see ten thousand baneful arts combined To pamper luxury, and thin mankind ; To see each joy the sons of pleasure know, Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe.
Bibliografisk information
| Titel | The poetic reciter; or, Beauties of the British poets: adapted for reading and recitation, in public and private seminaries. Com piled by H. Marlen |
| Författare | Henry Marlen |
| Redaktör | Henry Marlen |
| Publicerad 18055Illustrerad av | 1838 |
| Original från | Oxford University |
| Digitaliserad | 18 okt 2006 |
| Exportera citat | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |