Verses and translations, by C.S.C. |
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Strona 12
... thou and I , my Tommy , will , When we again meet , meet as brothers . It may be that in age one seeks Peace only that the blood is brisker In boys ' veins , than in theirs whose cheeks Are partially obscured by whisker ; Or that the ...
... thou and I , my Tommy , will , When we again meet , meet as brothers . It may be that in age one seeks Peace only that the blood is brisker In boys ' veins , than in theirs whose cheeks Are partially obscured by whisker ; Or that the ...
Strona 18
... thou stout portèr , My two chattèls to me . " Bring hither , bring hither my bag so red , And portmanteau so brown : ( They lie in the van , for a trusty man He labelled them London town :) " And fetch me eke a cabman bold , That I may ...
... thou stout portèr , My two chattèls to me . " Bring hither , bring hither my bag so red , And portmanteau so brown : ( They lie in the van , for a trusty man He labelled them London town :) " And fetch me eke a cabman bold , That I may ...
Strona 19
... thou stout portèr , What were it best that I should do : For woe is me , an I reach not there Or ever the clock strike two . " “ I have a son , a lytel son ; Fleet is his foot as the wild roebuck's : Give him a shilling , and eke a ...
... thou stout portèr , What were it best that I should do : For woe is me , an I reach not there Or ever the clock strike two . " “ I have a son , a lytel son ; Fleet is his foot as the wild roebuck's : Give him a shilling , and eke a ...
Strona 29
... Thou more than mother to my infant mind ! I loved thee better than I loved my grammar— I used to wonder why the Mice were blind , And who was gardener to Mistress Mary , And what I don't know still - was meant by " quite contrary ...
... Thou more than mother to my infant mind ! I loved thee better than I loved my grammar— I used to wonder why the Mice were blind , And who was gardener to Mistress Mary , And what I don't know still - was meant by " quite contrary ...
Strona 35
... thou bearest Mivins in remembrance still ! If that Friday night is banished Yet from that retentive mind , When the others somehow vanished , And we two were left behind : - When in accents low , yet thrilling , I did all my love ...
... thou bearest Mivins in remembrance still ! If that Friday night is banished Yet from that retentive mind , When the others somehow vanished , And we two were left behind : - When in accents low , yet thrilling , I did all my love ...
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Popularne fragmenty
Strona 112 - Lycidas ? For neither were ye playing on the steep, Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream : Ah me ! I fondly dream, Had ye been there...
Strona 108 - Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, Without the meed of some melodious tear. Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well, That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring; Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string.
Strona 124 - Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor ; So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky...
Strona 122 - Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world...
Strona 118 - Enow of such as for their bellies' sake, Creep and intrude, and climb into the fold? Of other care they little reckoning make, Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast, And shove away the worthy bidden guest; Blind mouths!
Strona 106 - Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear Compels me to disturb your season due : For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer. Who would not sing for Lycidas ? He knew Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. He must not float upon his watery bier Unwept, and welter to the parching wind Without the meed of some melodious tear.
Strona 114 - Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights and live laborious days; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears, And slits the thin-spun life.
Strona 116 - And questioned every gust of rugged wings That blows from off each beaked promontory: They knew not of his story; And sage Hippotades their answer brings, That not a blast was from his dungeon...
Strona 108 - And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud. For we were nursed upon the self-same hill, Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill. Together both, ere the high lawns...
Strona 120 - Return Alpheus, the dread voice is past That shrunk thy streams ; return, Sicilian Muse, And call the vales, and bid them hither cast Their bells and flowrets of a thousand hues.