What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
Alfred Tennyson Alice Cary arms bear beautiful bells bless blood brave breast breath Bregenz brow child clouds Commodus cried Daniel Webster dark dead dear death Decemvir deep dream Earth eyes face fair fall father fear feel feet fellah flowers friends gazed girl Goody Cole grave Hampton River hand hath head hear heard heart Heaven honour hope Kate Shelly King Lady laugh Lictors light lips live look look'd Lord Mac-Morlan morning mother never night o'er once Parthenia pass'd poor prayer R. H. Dana ring river round S. T. Coleridge Sandalphon seem'd shore shouted silence smile song sorrow soul speak spirit stand star stood sweet tears tell thee thing thou thought tree turn'd Twas Virg voice waves wild William Wordsworth wood words young
Page 293 - But there is no peace! The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field ! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? ' Forbid it, Almighty God ! I know not what course others may take; but as for me — give me liberty, or give me death!
Page 19 - E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate — Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, ' Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
Page 199 - BREAK, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea ! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. O well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play ! O well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay ! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill ; But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still ! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea ! But the tender grace of a day that is dead...
Page 331 - Eske river where ford there was none : But ere he alighted at Netherby gate The bride had consented, the gallant came late : For a laggard in love and a dastard in war Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.
Page 461 - JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. JOHN ANDERSON, my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent ;' But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw ; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo. John Anderson, my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither; And monie a canty day, John, We've had wi...
Page 212 - Arve and Arveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form! Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, How silently! Around thee and above, Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, An ebon mass ; methinks thou piercest it, As with a wedge ! But when I look again, It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, Thy habitation from eternity ! 0 dread and silent mount ! I gazed upon thee, Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer....
Page 209 - twas a pleasing fear; For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane, — as I do here.
Page 473 - The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O hark, O hear ! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going ! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing ! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Page 209 - Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts — not so thou Unchangeable, save to thy wild waves