Everyday Classics: Eighth Reader : the Introduction to Literature

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Macmillan Company, 1918 - 415 pÓgines
 

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PÓgina 348 - Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the Poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave Await alike th' inevitable hour : — The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
PÓgina 131 - I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, not without cause ; What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? 0 judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason!
PÓgina 128 - Romans, countrymen, and lovers! Hear me for my cause, and be silent, that you may hear. Believe me for mine honour, and have respect to mine honour, that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom, and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Caesar's, to him I say that Brutus' love to Caesar was no less than his.
PÓgina 27 - Will no one tell me what she sings? — Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things And battles long ago; Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of today Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again?
PÓgina 97 - Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me That ever with a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed Free hearts, free foreheads — you and I are old; Old age hath yet his...
PÓgina 130 - When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept; Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says he was ambitious, And Brutus is an honorable man.
PÓgina 253 - BREAK, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea ! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. O well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play ! O well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay ! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a...
PÓgina 351 - One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree; Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he : •'The next, with dirges due in sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne : Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the lay Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
PÓgina 250 - She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love : A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky.
PÓgina 15 - mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran : There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ? xiii.

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