Classic Tales by Famous Authors: Containing Complete Selections from the World's Best Authors, with Prefatory Biographical and Synoptical Notes, Volume 1

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Bodleian society, 1905
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Page 121 - Bartholomew,' was passed from man to man; But out spake gentle Henry, ' No Frenchman is my foe : ' Down, down, with every foreigner, but let your brethren go.
Page vi - ... books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them to be as active as that soul was whose progeny they are; nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect that bred them.
Page 175 - That swathes, as with a purple shroud, Benledi's distant hill. Is it the thunder's solemn sound That mutters deep and dread, Or echoes from the groaning ground The warrior's measured tread ? Is it the lightning's quivering glance That on the thicket streams, Or do they flash on spear and lance The sun's retiring beams...
Page 188 - Both battles main, with ruinous assault And inextinguishable rage; all Heaven Resounded, and, had Earth been then, all Earth Had to her centre shook.
Page 119 - Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, oh pleasant land of France! And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters. As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy.
Page 120 - Hurrah ! the foes are moving. Hark to the mingled din Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin. The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's plain, With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne.
Page 120 - With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers, And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears! There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land ! And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand ; And as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood, And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood ; And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war, To fight for His own holy Name, and Henry of Navarre.
Page 198 - He on his impious foes right onward drove, " Gloomy as night : under his burning wheels " The steadfast empyrean shook throughout; ' ' All but the throne itself of God.
Page 175 - There is no breeze upon the fern, No ripple on the lake, Upon her eyry nods the erne, The deer has sought the brake : The small birds will not sing aloud, The springing trout lies still, So darkly glooms yon thunder cloud, That swathes, as with a purple shroud, Benledi's distant hill.
Page 195 - Heir and to be King By sacred unction, thy deserved right. Go then, thou mightiest, in thy Father's might, Ascend my chariot, guide the rapid wheels That shake Heaven's basis, bring forth all my war. My bow and thunder, my almighty arms Gird on, and sword upon thy puissant thigh...

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