The Poetic Old-world: A Little Book for Tourists |
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Page vii
... SWEET INNISFALLEN Thomas Moore 14 Blarney BLARNEY CASTLE Samuel Lover 16 • Tara THE HARP THAT ONCE , THRO ' TARA'S HALLS Thomas Moore • 17 Innisfree , Lough Gill THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE I W. B. Yeats 18 Farewell to Ireland ON LEAVING ...
... SWEET INNISFALLEN Thomas Moore 14 Blarney BLARNEY CASTLE Samuel Lover 16 • Tara THE HARP THAT ONCE , THRO ' TARA'S HALLS Thomas Moore • 17 Innisfree , Lough Gill THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE I W. B. Yeats 18 Farewell to Ireland ON LEAVING ...
Page xvi
... SWEET CLARENS Chillon THE PRISONER OF CHILLON THE LAKE OF GENEVA · Lord Byron . Samuel Rogers • 272 · 284 Glion FROM OBERMANN ONCE MORE . Matthew Arnold . 285 MORNING IN MARTIGNY Martigny T. B. Read . • 287 St. Bernard Pass THE GREAT ST ...
... SWEET CLARENS Chillon THE PRISONER OF CHILLON THE LAKE OF GENEVA · Lord Byron . Samuel Rogers • 272 · 284 Glion FROM OBERMANN ONCE MORE . Matthew Arnold . 285 MORNING IN MARTIGNY Martigny T. B. Read . • 287 St. Bernard Pass THE GREAT ST ...
Page xvii
... SWEET Too ! AM I IN ITALY ? CADENABBIA FROM COMƆ W. Wordsworth . 308 ITALY John Keats . Samuel Rogers 311 • 312 H. W. Longfellow 312 Samuel Rogers 314 • Milan THE LAST SUPPER , BY LEONARDO DA VINCI W. Wordsworth . 315 Florence FROM CASA ...
... SWEET Too ! AM I IN ITALY ? CADENABBIA FROM COMƆ W. Wordsworth . 308 ITALY John Keats . Samuel Rogers 311 • 312 H. W. Longfellow 312 Samuel Rogers 314 • Milan THE LAST SUPPER , BY LEONARDO DA VINCI W. Wordsworth . 315 Florence FROM CASA ...
Page 2
... sweet , And nought but love is wanting ; We think how great had been our bliss If heaven had but assign'd us To live and die in scenes like this , With some we've left behind us ! Thomas Moore . En Route ( From Amours de Voyage ) OVER the.
... sweet , And nought but love is wanting ; We think how great had been our bliss If heaven had but assign'd us To live and die in scenes like this , With some we've left behind us ! Thomas Moore . En Route ( From Amours de Voyage ) OVER the.
Page 9
... sweet silent brooks All decked by posies , that spontaneous grow there , Planted in order in the rocky nooks . O ! was I but so fortunate As to be back in Munster , R. A. Milliken . ' Tis I'd be bound that from that ground I never more ...
... sweet silent brooks All decked by posies , that spontaneous grow there , Planted in order in the rocky nooks . O ! was I but so fortunate As to be back in Munster , R. A. Milliken . ' Tis I'd be bound that from that ground I never more ...
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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.