Practical text-book of grammatical analysis

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Thomas Laurie, 1870 - 56 páginas

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Página 50 - Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thought, Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy: Till the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfused, Into the mighty vision passing — there As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven!
Página 47 - Signior Antonio, many a time and oft In the Rialto you have rated me About my moneys and my usances : Still have I borne it with a patient shrug ; For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.
Página 53 - Then none was for a party ; Then all were for the state ; Then the great man helped the poor, And the poor man loved the great ; Then lands were fairly portioned ; Then spoils were fairly sold : The Romans were like brothers In the brave days of old.
Página 47 - Where many a time he triumphed is forgot. Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired, Where graybeard mirth and smiling toil retired, Where village statesmen talked with looks profound, And news much older than their ale went round.
Página 51 - The sun's eye had a sickly glare, The earth with age was wan ; The skeletons of nations were Around that lonely man. Some had expired in fight— the brands Still rusted in their bony hands ; In plague and famine some.
Página 50 - To be more prince, as may be. You are sad. Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. Arth. Mercy on me! Methinks no body should be sad but I : Yet, I remember, when I was in France, Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, Only for wantonness. By my Christendom, So I were out of prison and kept sheep, I should be as merry as the day is long...
Página 41 - He is coming ! he is coming ! Like a bridegroom from his room, Came the hero from his prison To the scaffold and the doom. There was glory on his forehead, There was lustre in his eye, And he never walked to battle More proudly than to die...
Página 40 - The day is bright as then, The lark's loud song is in my ear, And the corn is green again; But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, And your breath, warm on my cheek, And I still keep list'nin' for the words You never more will speak.
Página 40 - SOLDIER'S DREAM Our bugles sang truce — for the night-cloud had lowered, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky ; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered, The weary to sleep and the wounded to die.
Página 36 - The sense of death is most in apprehension ; And the poor beetle that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.

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