Choice Literature, Bücher 7American Book Company., 1912 |
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Seite 3
... thought so firmly in never be forgotten : - It is worth while mind that it will " Sow an act and you reap a habit ; Sow a habit and you reap a character ; Sow a character and you reap a destiny . " The selections from Longfellow ...
... thought so firmly in never be forgotten : - It is worth while mind that it will " Sow an act and you reap a habit ; Sow a habit and you reap a character ; Sow a character and you reap a destiny . " The selections from Longfellow ...
Seite 33
... thought the crab had taken refuge , the octopus was lying in wait in that hole . Can the reader picture that lying in wait ? Not a bird would dare to brood , not an egg would dare to hatch , not a flower would dare to open , not a ...
... thought the crab had taken refuge , the octopus was lying in wait in that hole . Can the reader picture that lying in wait ? Not a bird would dare to brood , not an egg would dare to hatch , not a flower would dare to open , not a ...
Seite 46
... thought of his cavalry . Had Napoleon at this moment thought of his infantry , the battle would have been won , and this forgetfulness was his great and fatal fault . All at once the assailers found themselves assailed ; the English cav ...
... thought of his cavalry . Had Napoleon at this moment thought of his infantry , the battle would have been won , and this forgetfulness was his great and fatal fault . All at once the assailers found themselves assailed ; the English cav ...
Seite 50
... thought the Duke lost ; at five o'clock Wellington looked at his watch , and could be heard muttering , " Blücher or night . " It was at this moment that a distant line of bayonets glistened on the heights on the side of Frischemont ...
... thought the Duke lost ; at five o'clock Wellington looked at his watch , and could be heard muttering , " Blücher or night . " It was at this moment that a distant line of bayonets glistened on the heights on the side of Frischemont ...
Seite 63
... . O empty world that round us lies , Dead shell , of soul and thought forsaken , Brought we but eyes like Mercury's In thee what songs should waken . MY SIR GALAHAD ALFRED TENNYSON Y good blade carves the THE FINDING OF THE LYRE 63.
... . O empty world that round us lies , Dead shell , of soul and thought forsaken , Brought we but eyes like Mercury's In thee what songs should waken . MY SIR GALAHAD ALFRED TENNYSON Y good blade carves the THE FINDING OF THE LYRE 63.
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Alba Longa ALFRED TENNYSON arms army Bass Bassanio battle blood blow Blücher born brave breath Brutus Cæsar cannon carronade Casca Cassius cavalry clouds Clusium cuirassiers dark dead death doth ducats Duke earth English Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair father fear fire Genappe Gilliatt give Gratiano hand hast hath head hear heard heart heaven honor Horatius horse Jessica Julius Cæsar Lars Porsena Laun Launcelot light live look lord Lorenzo Lucius Mark Antony Messala Napoleon Nerissa never night noble o'er octopus Portia pray ring Roman Rome sabers sail Salar shout Shylock smile song soul sound speak spirit stand star-spangled banner stood sweet sword tell thee thine things THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY thought thousand Titinius to-day turned Venice voice wave weather wild WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE wind
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Seite 188 - 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' play, Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow — Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.
Seite 241 - BREATHES there the man with soul so dead Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land ? Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned, From wandering on a foreign strand ? If such there breathe, go mark him well ; For him no minstrel raptures swell ; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch concentered all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly...
Seite 409 - The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils ; The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And his affections dark as Erebus : Let no such man be trusted.
Seite 472 - tis his will: Let but the commons hear this testament (Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read), And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, And dip their napkins in his sacred blood; Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it as a rich legacy Unto their issue.
Seite 123 - He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment seat: Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet! Our God is marching on. In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me: As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, While God is marching on.
Seite 326 - Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride At length broke under me, and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Seite 233 - Tis sweeter far to me, To walk together to the kirk With a goodly company! — To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, Old men, and babes, and loving friends And youths and maidens gay!
Seite 475 - I am no orator, as Brutus is ; But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, That love 'my friend ; and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him. For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood : I only speak right on ; I tell you that which you yourselves do know ; Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths...
Seite 248 - The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn. Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Seite 325 - The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side; His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound.