The Young Ladies' Class Book: A Selection of Lessons for Reading, in Prose and Verse

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Lincoln, Edmands, 1833 - 408 páginas
 

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Página 275 - Ye ice-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amain— Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge ! Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts ! Who made you glorious as the gates of Heaven Beneath the keen full moon ? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows ? Who, with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet 1— God ! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer ! and let the ice-plains echo,...
Página 329 - The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece! Where burning Sappho loved and sung, Where grew the arts of war and peace,— Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set. The Scian and the Teian muse, The hero's harp, the lover's lute, Have found the fame your shores refuse; Their place of birth alone is mute To sounds which echo further west Than your sires
Página 232 - AT midnight, in his guarded tent, The Turk was dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, Should tremble at his power ; In dreams, through camp and court, he bore The trophies of a conqueror ; In dreams his song of triumph heard. Then wore his monarch's signet ring, Then pressed that monarch's throne — a King ; As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, As Eden's garden bird.
Página 404 - Thus with the year Seasons return, but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine: But cloud instead, and ever-during dark Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair Presented with a universal blank Of nature's works, to me expunged and rased, And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out.
Página 365 - Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood; Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood, Th...
Página 37 - The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread.
Página 382 - When Music, heavenly maid, was young, While yet in early Greece she sung, The Passions oft, to hear her shell, Thronged around her magic cell...
Página 381 - Because authority, though it err like others, Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself, That skins the vice o' the top : Go to your bosom ; Knock there ; and ask your heart, what it doth know That's like my brother's fault : if it confess A natural guiltiness, such as is his, Xiet it not sound a thought upon your tongue Against my brother's life.
Página 383 - And with a withering look The war-denouncing trumpet took ; And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe...
Página 330 - And where are they? and where art thou. My country? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now — The heroic bosom beats no more ! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine?

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