Was andere dazu sagen - Rezension schreiben
Es wurden keine Rezensionen gefunden.
Andere Ausgaben - Alle anzeigen
animals appear army bears became become began birds body brought called canal carried close common continued covered death earth employed engine England English eyes fire force four French friends gardens gave give given glass going gold hand head heard heart heat horse hour iron Italy kind king labour land lead leaves length less light living London look Lord Lord John Russell manner March means metals miles morning moved nature nearly never night observed once passed persons piece poor present prisoners raised received remained round sand seemed seen side soon Stephenson stone strong things thought took tree turned various village weight whole wife young
Seite 27 - The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike the inevitable hour: The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Seite 105 - Or mild concerns of ordinary life, A constant influence, a peculiar grace; But who, if he be called upon to face Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined Great issues, good or bad for human kind, Is happy as a Lover; and attired With sudden brightness, like a Man inspired; And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw...
Seite 237 - Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell; And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of, say, I taught thee...
Seite 250 - Speak, father!" once again he cried, "If I may yet be gone!" And but the booming shots replied, And fast the flames rolled on.
Seite 238 - How many thousand of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep ! O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness ? Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber ; Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody?
Seite 237 - Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition: By that sin fell the angels. How can man then, The image of his Maker, hope to win by it?
Seite 247 - Tis brightness all ; save where the new snow melts Along the mazy current. Low, the woods Bow their hoar head ; and, ere the languid Sun Faint from the west emits his evening ray, Earth's universal face, deep hid and chill, Is one wild dazzling waste, that buries wide The works of man.
Seite 250 - The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands ; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands.
Seite 194 - She was dead. No sleep so beautiful and calm, so free from trace of pain, so fair to look upon. She seemed a creature fresh from the hand of God, and waiting for the breath of life ; not one who had lived and suffered death.
Seite 224 - Will, is a particular favourite of all the young heirs, whom he frequently obliges with a net that he has weaved, or a settingdog that he has made himself : He now and then presents a pair of garters of his own knitting to their mothers or sisters ; and raises a great deal of mirth among them, by inquiring as often as he meets them how they wear ? These gentlemanlike manufactures and obliging little humours, make Will, the darling of the country.