English odes, selected by E.W. Gosse |
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Strona vi
... France XXXI . To an Indian Gold Coin XXXII . To Joseph Ablett XXXIII . To Winter XXXIV . On Venice . • • XXXV . To the West Wind · • XXXVI . To a Skylark . XXXVII . To Liberty XXXVIII . To Naples . Wordsworth • . 147 Wordsworth ...
... France XXXI . To an Indian Gold Coin XXXII . To Joseph Ablett XXXIII . To Winter XXXIV . On Venice . • • XXXV . To the West Wind · • XXXVI . To a Skylark . XXXVII . To Liberty XXXVIII . To Naples . Wordsworth • . 147 Wordsworth ...
Strona vi
... France · Coleridge · · 162 XXXI . To an Indian Gold Coin • Leyden • • 167 XXXII . To Joseph Ablett • · Landor · • • 170 XXXIII . To Winter . Campbell • 175 XXXIV . On Venice . · Byron . • • · 178 XXXV . To the West Wind XXXVI . To a ...
... France · Coleridge · · 162 XXXI . To an Indian Gold Coin • Leyden • • 167 XXXII . To Joseph Ablett • · Landor · • • 170 XXXIII . To Winter . Campbell • 175 XXXIV . On Venice . · Byron . • • · 178 XXXV . To the West Wind XXXVI . To a ...
Strona xv
... France , he chanced to be in a place where the only book was a Pindar , which he read with eagerness . It was printed , of course , with no choral divisions ; and in the old metrical confusion , and to an observer so little perspicuous ...
... France , he chanced to be in a place where the only book was a Pindar , which he read with eagerness . It was printed , of course , with no choral divisions ; and in the old metrical confusion , and to an observer so little perspicuous ...
Strona 81
... France ? Why must the winds all hold their tongue ? If they a little breath should raise , Would that have spoil'd the poet's song , Or puff'd away the monarch's praise . Pindar , that eagle , mounts the skies ; While virtue leads the ...
... France ? Why must the winds all hold their tongue ? If they a little breath should raise , Would that have spoil'd the poet's song , Or puff'd away the monarch's praise . Pindar , that eagle , mounts the skies ; While virtue leads the ...
Strona 85
... France , No godhead , but the first of men . His mortal arm exerts the pow'r , To keep ev'n Mons's victor under : And that same Jupiter no more Shall fright the world with impious thunder . Our King thus trembles at Namur , Whilst ...
... France , No godhead , but the first of men . His mortal arm exerts the pow'r , To keep ev'n Mons's victor under : And that same Jupiter no more Shall fright the world with impious thunder . Our King thus trembles at Namur , Whilst ...
Kluczowe wyrazy i wyrażenia
angel ANNE KILLIGREW antistrophe Bacchus beneath blessed bliss Boileau bower breath bright CHORUS clouds crown curious fools dark death deep delight divine dost doth dreadful dreams e'er ears earth echo ring epode eternal eyes fair fair music fame fate fear fire flowers foes France glory golden goodly grace hand happy harmony hast hath hear heard heart heaven heavenly holy honour Hyades Hymen kings leave les leopards les monceaux light loud lovely band lyre maid melodious mighty mortal mourn Muse Namur ne'er night numbers nymphs o'er pain Pindar pleasure poem poet praise quire round sacred Sambre sighed and looked sing skies sleep soft solemn song soul sound spirit star sung sweet tears thee thine things thou thought throne Timotheus unto vermil verse voice waves winds wings woods may answer woods them answer
Popularne fragmenty
Strona 218 - Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too...
Strona 183 - Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower: Like a glow-worm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its aerial hue Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the view...
Strona 65 - Now strike the golden lyre again ; A louder yet, and yet a louder strain. Break his bands of sleep asunder, And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. Hark, hark, the horrid sound Has raised up his head ; As awaked from the dead, And amazed, he stares around. Revenge, revenge...
Strona 185 - We look before and after, And pine for what is not: Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Strona 219 - But when the melancholy fit shall fall Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, That fosters the droop-headed flowers all, And hides the green hill in an April shroud; Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose, Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave, Or on the wealth of globed peonies ; Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows, Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave, And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.
Strona 101 - On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood. Robed in the sable garb of woe. With haggard eyes the poet stood; (Loose his beard, and hoary hair Streamed, like a meteor, to the troubled air), And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire, Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.
Strona 207 - My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: "Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness, — That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
Strona 22 - This is the month, and this the happy morn Wherein the Son of Heaven's Eternal King Of wedded maid and virgin mother born, Our great redemption from above did bring...
Strona 208 - Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan...
Strona 67 - At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame ; The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds, And added length to solemn sounds, With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown ; He raised a mortal to the skies, She drew an angel down.