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ancient Behead beware Birthplace bloody brave bright called Cannibal cause celebrated chief town colours Constantinople dark delight despised dislike doth dread e'en English river faded fair fall fame famous fate fear flies France French fruit gain garden give glory green hand hard head heard hero honour India INITIALS island Italian Italy king land LAST light live look loud midland counties monarch mountain Muses musical instrument ne'er never nigger nigh night noble noble savage o'er pain painter past perchance Peru pleasant poet poor race renown reversed rich Rome Russia says SECOND seen soft sometimes sorrow sort sought sound Southern isle Spain sting sweet tail tell thee things thou tis better toil Triple Acrostic Turk twas victim weary ween weep well-known WHOLE wild wondrous word wretched young
Page 114 - Work, work, work ! My labor never flags ; And what are its wages ? A bed of straw, A crust of bread, and rags ; That shattered roof, and this naked floor, A table, a broken chair, And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank For sometimes falling there.
Page 89 - What elegance and grandeur wide expand, The pride of Turkey and of Persia land ? Soft quilts on quilts, on carpets carpets spread, And couches stretch'd around in seemly band ; And endless pillows rise to prop the head ; So that each spacious room was one full-swelling bed.
Page 84 - Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean. Water, water, everywhere, And all the boards did shrink ; Water, water, everywhere, Nor any drop to drink.
Page 34 - Love took up the glass of Time, and turn'd it in his glowing hands ; Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands. Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might ; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight. Many a morning on the moorland did we hear the copses ring.
Page 109 - And this is law that I'll maintain Until my dying day, sir, That whatsoever king shall reign, Still I'll be the Vicar of Bray, sir.
Page 85 - Faintly as tolls the evening chime Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The Rapids are near and the daylight's past.
Page 21 - O ! who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast? Or wallow naked in December snow By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?
Page 34 - Set you down this; And say besides, that in Aleppo once, Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk Beat a Venetian and traduced the state, I took by the throat the circumcised dog, And smote him, thus.