The Eton Bureau, Temas1-6Ingalton and Son, 1842 |
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Página 15
... lives to day ! Child of the billow , and the breeze- One look of love ! -Away ! —A shame to landsmen's ease ! The exile , from that shore beloved torn , Of which he was a scion , not a slave- Feels all that made life sweet , or less ...
... lives to day ! Child of the billow , and the breeze- One look of love ! -Away ! —A shame to landsmen's ease ! The exile , from that shore beloved torn , Of which he was a scion , not a slave- Feels all that made life sweet , or less ...
Página 26
... lives no more . Who , but an angel dare to tell or think What harmony divine enchants the breast That dares call heaven its own , and deeply drink From springs unfailing of eternal rest ? To where appall'd the dying sceptic lies , From ...
... lives no more . Who , but an angel dare to tell or think What harmony divine enchants the breast That dares call heaven its own , and deeply drink From springs unfailing of eternal rest ? To where appall'd the dying sceptic lies , From ...
Página 27
... live - long night , I'll leap with ancle bold and bright In glad and holy revelry , Glancing up at the dewy sky And tossing on high my waving hair , As free as the fawn that has baffled the snare , And bounded from her foes , to taste ...
... live - long night , I'll leap with ancle bold and bright In glad and holy revelry , Glancing up at the dewy sky And tossing on high my waving hair , As free as the fawn that has baffled the snare , And bounded from her foes , to taste ...
Página 32
... live the father's * pangs , As writhe his sons beneath the serpent's fangs ; Himself untamed , till overwhelming fate Shall crush each youthful form , and leave him desolate . Thrice , but in vain , the wretched father strove To quell ...
... live the father's * pangs , As writhe his sons beneath the serpent's fangs ; Himself untamed , till overwhelming fate Shall crush each youthful form , and leave him desolate . Thrice , but in vain , the wretched father strove To quell ...
Página 39
... live , thus without death to die . Idem Latine Redditum . Quid licet advenias mostâ sub imagine mortis Somne ? comes nostri sis tamen usque tori : Lenis ades : dulce est expertem vivere vitæ , Vivere sic liceat , sic sine morte mori ...
... live , thus without death to die . Idem Latine Redditum . Quid licet advenias mostâ sub imagine mortis Somne ? comes nostri sis tamen usque tori : Lenis ades : dulce est expertem vivere vitæ , Vivere sic liceat , sic sine morte mori ...
Términos y frases comunes
Æneid Apollonius Rhodius barque beauty better breath bright Burton calm castle Catullus character charm child clouds dare dark dear death doth earth Eton Bureau Etonians evil eyes fair faith fancy fear feelings gaze gentle George Morland Georgics give grace grave Gwendolen hand happy hath heard heart heaven Herstmonceux holy honour hope King knew Ladon leave light live look Lord Byron Lord Dacre Lycophron Menedemus mind nature never night o'er once passed perhaps Phormio poet poor prayer Procles Puddletown readers round scarce scene scorn seemed shame shew shuffler sigh similes smile soft song sorrow soul spirit stream sure sweet tears tell thee things thou thought told TOMMY GREEN truth Unterwalden verse Virgil waves wind Windsor Castle words write young youth
Pasajes populares
Página 316 - When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste...
Página 274 - MAN, that is born of a woman, hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down like a flower ; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay.
Página 229 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things : There is no armour against fate : Death lays his icy hands on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Página 267 - A THING of beauty is a joy for ever : Its loveliness increases ; it will never Pass into nothingness ; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Página 187 - Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
Página 143 - Of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth; Let's choose executors and talk of wills : And yet not so — for what can we bequeath Save our deposed bodies to the ground? Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's, And nothing can we call our own but death, And that small model of the barren earth...
Página 265 - Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me : the brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to invent any thing that tends to laughter*, more than I invent, or is invented on me : I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men.
Página 335 - THE POET'S SONG. THE rain had fallen, the Poet arose, He pass'd by the town and out of the street, A light wind blew from the gates of the sun, And waves of shadow went over the wheat, And he sat him down in a lonely place, And chanted a melody loud and sweet, That made the wild-swan pause in her cloud, And the lark drop down at his feet.
Página 229 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill : But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow; Then boast no more your mighty deeds! Upon Death's purple altar now See where the victor-victim bleeds. Your heads must come To the cold tomb: Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom...
Página 114 - The youth, he cried, whom I exiled Shall be restored to woo her. She's at the window many an hour His coming to discover: And he look'd up to Ellen's bower And she look'd on her lover — But ah! so pale, he knew her not, Though her smile on him was dwelling — And am I then forgot — forgot? It broke the heart of Ellen. In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs, Her...