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Adams Alfred Tennyson arms beneath bless blood Blutwurst born breath brow Brown called church Covent Garden cried dark dear death deep dream duchy of Normandy Duke Eugenius Eurydice eyes fair father fire flowers Fred gaze hand hath head hear heart heaven heigh-ho Henry Fielding honour horse hour Joseph Andrews lady Leigh Hunt light lips little vulgar live look Lord Avondale Magyar Margate MARTYR OF ANTIOCH Messrs morning mother never night o'er once passed Penny Readings pleasant poet rose round seemed Sir Eppo Sir Rupert smile song soul sound stood sweet tears tell thee There's thine things thou art thought took Trulliber Trunnion turned twas Tyke voice vulgar boy vurst walked wife wind words wretch Yorick young
Page 138 - ... little did I dream that I should have lived to see such disasters fallen upon her in a nation of gallant men, in a nation of men of honour and of cavaliers. I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards to avenge even a look that threatened her with insult. But the age of chivalry is gone. That of sophisters, economists, and calculators has succeeded ; and the glory of Europe is extinguished forever.
Page 163 - The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd on the water: the poop was beaten gold; Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them...
Page 137 - It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the queen of France, then the dauphiness, at Versailles; and surely never lighted on this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful vision.
Page 194 - Colder and louder blew the wind, A gale from the northeast, The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows frothed like yeast. Down came the storm, and smote amain The vessel in its strength ; She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, Then leaped her cable's length. "Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, And do not tremble so; For I can weather the roughest gale That ever wind did blow.
Page 139 - TWAS at the royal feast for Persia won By Philip's warlike son: Aloft in awful state The godlike hero sate On his imperial throne...
Page 142 - Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries, See the Furies arise! See the snakes that they rear How they hiss in their hair, And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!
Page 177 - Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake, Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms; And such too is the grandeur of the dooms We have imagined for the mighty dead ; All lovely tales that we have heard or read: An endless fountain of immortal drink, Pouring unto us from the Heaven's brink.
Page 41 - Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear; If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground I Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow, The world should listen then, as I am listening now.