The poetical reader, with notes and questions by A.W. BuchanAlexander Winton Buchan 1861 |
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Página 5
... Dead Child , A Parental Ode to my Child , The May Queen , I. May - Day , II . New - Year's Day , III . Conclusion , To a City Pigeon , Cœur de Lion at the Bier of his Father , The Veteran Tar , Remembrances , The Christian Pauper's ...
... Dead Child , A Parental Ode to my Child , The May Queen , I. May - Day , II . New - Year's Day , III . Conclusion , To a City Pigeon , Cœur de Lion at the Bier of his Father , The Veteran Tar , Remembrances , The Christian Pauper's ...
Página 8
... Here - lay it on my wrist , And place the other thus , beneath my head , And say , sweet mother ! -say , when I am dead , Shall I be miss'd ? " Never beside your knee Shall I kneel down again 8 SELECTED POETRY . The Dying Boy,
... Here - lay it on my wrist , And place the other thus , beneath my head , And say , sweet mother ! -say , when I am dead , Shall I be miss'd ? " Never beside your knee Shall I kneel down again 8 SELECTED POETRY . The Dying Boy,
Página 9
... of the early spring- He breathed it not ! -The laugh of passers by Jarr'd like a discord in some mournful tune , But marred not his slumbers - He was dead ! THE MOSS ROSE . FROM THE GERMAN OF KRUMMACHER . SELECTED POETRY . 9.
... of the early spring- He breathed it not ! -The laugh of passers by Jarr'd like a discord in some mournful tune , But marred not his slumbers - He was dead ! THE MOSS ROSE . FROM THE GERMAN OF KRUMMACHER . SELECTED POETRY . 9.
Página 11
... dead . As I drew near , the cottage blazed , The evening fire was clear and bright , As through the window long I gazed , And saw each friend with dear delight . My father in his corner sat , My mother drew her useful thread ; My ...
... dead . As I drew near , the cottage blazed , The evening fire was clear and bright , As through the window long I gazed , And saw each friend with dear delight . My father in his corner sat , My mother drew her useful thread ; My ...
Página 17
... dead , — Old times. 1. In what light did the poet love to contemplate Napoleon ? 2. What is meant by his homicidal glory ? 3. What freedom was our captive tar allowed ? 4. How far to Boulogne from Dover ? 5. Why , think you , would he ...
... dead , — Old times. 1. In what light did the poet love to contemplate Napoleon ? 2. What is meant by his homicidal glory ? 3. What freedom was our captive tar allowed ? 4. How far to Boulogne from Dover ? 5. Why , think you , would he ...
Otras ediciones - Ver todas
The poetical reader, with notes and questions by A.W. Buchan Alexander Winton Buchan Vista completa - 1859 |
Términos y frases comunes
ALEXANDER WINTON Andromache beauty beneath bird breast breath bright brothers call'd Canute child clouds cold Colma cottage crown dark dead dear death deep Dismal Swamp dost doth dread earth Edinburgh Edition eternal fair falchion father fear fire flowers Forever-never friends gazed glory green grief hand happy hath hear heard heart heaven hill History Iceni Keeldar king Lausus light live lonely look Lord Mezentius mitherless bairn morning mother N. P. WILLIS ne'er nest never Never-forever night o'er pass'd poet praise pride Professor Queen rest ROBERT BURNS rock round Salgar seem'd silent sing SIR WALTER SCOTT sleep smile song sorrow soul speak stood stream Sugh summer sweet tears tell thee thine THOMAS HOOD thou art thought throne Tidore tree Tuscany Twas University of Edinburgh Vex'd voice weary weep wild wind wing word
Pasajes populares
Página 74 - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain ? What fields, or waves, or mountains ? What shapes of sky or plain ? What love of thine own kind ? what ignorance of pain ? With thy clear, keen joyance Languor cannot be : Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee : Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.
Página 49 - I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. I REMEMBER, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn : He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day, But now I often wish the night Had borne my breath away ! I remember, I remember...
Página 27 - Whither, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way?
Página 92 - The seasons' difference ; as, the icy fang, And churlish chiding of the winter's wind ; Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — This is no flattery : these are counsellors, That feelingly persuade me what I am. Sweet are the uses of adversity ; Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ; And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and...
Página 72 - Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began.
Página 96 - How many thousand of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep ! O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down And steep my senses in forgetfulness...
Página 91 - She should have died hereafter ; There would have been a time for such a word. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death.
Página 58 - Let us be patient ! These severe afflictions Not from the ground arise, But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise. We see but dimly through the mists and vapors Amid these earthly damps What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers May be heaven's distant lamps.
Página 59 - Not as a child shall we again behold her ; For when with raptures wild In our embraces we again enfold her, She will not be a child ; But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion, Clothed with celestial grace ; And beautiful with all the soul's expansion Shall we behold her face.
Página 91 - I have almost forgot the taste of fears : The time has been, my senses would have cool'd To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir As life were in't : I have supp'd full with horrors ; Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, Cannot once start me.