The Poetic Old-world: A Little Book for Tourists |
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Page xii
... NIGHT BEFORE WATERLOO Lord Byron . 154 GERMANY DES DEUTSCHEN VATERLAND E. M. Arndt · 158 TRANSLATION J. Macray : ; 159 AIX - LA - CHAPELLE Aix - la - Chapelle W. Wordsworth . 162 Cologne The Rhine Bingen Rüdesheim Wetzlar Strasburg Near ...
... NIGHT BEFORE WATERLOO Lord Byron . 154 GERMANY DES DEUTSCHEN VATERLAND E. M. Arndt · 158 TRANSLATION J. Macray : ; 159 AIX - LA - CHAPELLE Aix - la - Chapelle W. Wordsworth . 162 Cologne The Rhine Bingen Rüdesheim Wetzlar Strasburg Near ...
Page 6
... neither noontide nor starshine Nor moonlight cold which maketh mad , Might pierce the regal tenement . When the sun dawned , oh , gay and glad We set the sail and plied the oar ; But when the night - wind blew like breath , 6 THE VOYAGE.
... neither noontide nor starshine Nor moonlight cold which maketh mad , Might pierce the regal tenement . When the sun dawned , oh , gay and glad We set the sail and plied the oar ; But when the night - wind blew like breath , 6 THE VOYAGE.
Page 7
... night and many a day , And land , though but a rock , drew nigh ; So , we broke the cedar pales away , Let the purple awning flap in the wind , And a statue bright was on every deck ! We shouted , every man of us , And steered right ...
... night and many a day , And land , though but a rock , drew nigh ; So , we broke the cedar pales away , Let the purple awning flap in the wind , And a statue bright was on every deck ! We shouted , every man of us , And steered right ...
Page 11
... night - star her tale of woes . When shall the Swan , her death - note singing , Sleep with wings in darkness furl'd ? When will Heav'n , its sweet bell ringing , Call my spirit from this stormy world ? Silent , O Moyle ! to thy winter ...
... night - star her tale of woes . When shall the Swan , her death - note singing , Sleep with wings in darkness furl'd ? When will Heav'n , its sweet bell ringing , Call my spirit from this stormy world ? Silent , O Moyle ! to thy winter ...
Page 17
... night , Its tale of ruin tells : Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes , The only throb she gives , Is when some heart indignant breaks , To show that she still lives . Thomas Moore . C The Lake Isle of Innisfree ( Innisfree , Lough Gill ...
... night , Its tale of ruin tells : Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes , The only throb she gives , Is when some heart indignant breaks , To show that she still lives . Thomas Moore . C The Lake Isle of Innisfree ( Innisfree , Lough Gill ...
Contents
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Common terms and phrases
Alfred Tennyson beauty bells beneath Bingen blue Bouillabaisse breast breath bright brow Bruges calm Camelot Carcassonne castle Church cried dark dead dear deep dream earth eyes fair flowers Francesco Petrarca gazed German's fatherland Gilpin gleam golden grave gray green hand hath head hear heard heart heaven Heinrich Heine Henry Wadsworth Longfellow hills hour Ist's king Lady of Shalott Lake land light live look Lord Lord Byron Matthew Arnold mighty morning mountain never night o'er once pass pines rats Rhine river Robert Southey rocks round Rüdesheim Saint shadow shine shore silent sing sleep smile song soul sound stone stood stream street sweet tell thee Thomas Bailey Aldrich thou thought thro tout tower town trees Twas Vaucluse voice walls waters waves wild William Wordsworth wind wonder woods youth δὲ ἐν καὶ
Popular passages
Page 326 - I STOOD in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs ; A palace and a prison on each hand : I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand : A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles, Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles...
Page 246 - Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, How silently ! Around thee and above, Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, An ebon mass : methinks thou piercest it, As with a wedge ! But when I look again, It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, Thy habitation from eternity ! 0 dread and silent mount ! I gazed upon thee, Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, Didst vanish from my thought : entranced in prayer 1 worshipped the Invisible alone.
Page 475 - Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave. A king sate on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis ; And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations — all were his ! He counted them at break of day — And when the sun set, where were they?
Page 102 - Thy memory be as a dwelling-place For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then, If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts Of tender joy wilt thou remember me, And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance — If I should be where I no more can hear Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams Of past existence...
Page 248 - 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 ? God ! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer ! and let the ice-plains echo, God...
Page 79 - THE sea is calm to-night. The tide is full, the moon lies fair Upon the straits; — on the French coast the light Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand, Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Page 54 - THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day, •*- The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
Page 79 - tis, to cast one's eyes so low! The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air, Show scarce so gross as beetles : Half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade! Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head: The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; and yon...
Page 472 - Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
Page 18 - I WILL arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made ; Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade.