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(The British Readers). the First (-Sixth) Reader, Ed. by T. Morrison. the ...
Thomas Morrison (Ll D )
No preview available - 2015
answer appeared arms battle beautiful blood born break called chief comes dark dead death deep died door Duke earth eyes face fair fall father fear feel feet fell fire follow forest gave give grave green half hand head hear heard heart heaven hold honour hope hour human John king land leave light live look lord lost meet mind morning mountain nature never night noble o'er once pass poet poor postilion rising river rock round scene seemed seen side smiled soon soul sound spirit stand stood stream sweet Tell thee thing thou thought trees true turn voice waters waves whole wild wind woods young
Page 47 - thing of evil— prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us, by that God we both adore, Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore: Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore!
Page 96 - Yea, twice the sum : if that will not suffice, I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er, On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart : If this will not suffice, it must appear That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you, Wrest once the law to your authority : To do a great right do a little wrong ; And curb this cruel devil of his will.
Page 41 - tis his will : Let but the Commons hear this testament, (Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,) And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, And dip their napkins in his sacred blood...
Page 40 - Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears ; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them ; The good is oft interred with their bones ; So let it be with Caesar.
Page 82 - Alas! they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth; And constancy lives in realms above, And life is thorny, and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love, Doth work like madness in the brain.
Page 16 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill: But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still: Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar now See, where the victor-victim bleeds: Your heads must come To the cold tomb; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom...
Page 201 - Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much; Who, born for the universe, narrowed his mind, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.
Page 44 - Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door, Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door: This it is and nothing more.
Page 29 - O'er moor and mountain green, O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, Over the cloudlet dim, Over the rainbow's rim, Musical cherub, soar, singing, away! Then, when the gloaming comes, Low in the heather blooms Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling-place — O to abide in the desert with thee!