The Universal Anthology: A Collection of the Best Literature, Ancient, Mediaeval and Modern, with Biographical and Explanatory Notes

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Richard Garnett, Leon Vallée, Alois Brandl
Clarke Company, limited, 1899
 

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Seite 360 - OH yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt, and taints of blood; That nothing walks with aimless feet; That not one life shall be destroy'd, Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete...
Seite 128 - art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore, — Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" Quoth the Raven,
Seite 132 - During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country; and at length found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher.
Seite 361 - but no. From scarped cliff and quarried stone She cries, " A thousand types are gone: I care for nothing, all shall go. " Thou makest thine appeal to me: I bring to life, I bring to death: The spirit does but mean the breath: I know no more.
Seite 217 - Death has left on her Only the beautiful. "Still, for all slips of hers, One of Eve's family — Wipe those poor lips of hers Oozing so clammily, "Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home ? "Who was her father? Who was her mother? Had she a sister? Had she a brother? Or was there a dearer one StiH, and a nearer one Yet, than all other?
Seite 221 - Work — work — work, In the dull December light; And work — work — work, When the weather is warm and bright, While underneath the eaves The brooding swallows cling, As if to show me their sunny backs And twit me with the spring.
Seite 179 - And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill ; But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still ! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea ! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.
Seite 216 - Look at her garments Clinging like cerements; Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing; Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing,— Touch her not scornfully; Think of her mournfully, Gently and humanly; ' Not of the stains of her— All that remains of her Now, is pure womanly.
Seite 382 - Let us be patient! These severe afflictions Not from the ground arise. But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise.
Seite 140 - Banners yellow, glorious, golden, On its roof did float and flow (This — all this — was in the olden Time long ago), And every gentle air that dallied, In that sweet day, Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, A winged odor went away. Wanderers in that happy valley Through two luminous windows saw Spirits moving musically, To a lute's well-tuned law, Round about a throne where, sitting, Porphyrogene, In state his glory well befitting, The ruler of the realm was seen. And all with pearl...

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