The Lays of Ancient Rome: And Other Poems

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Miller, 1871 - 271 Seiten
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Seite 210 - And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may, For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray, Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war, And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of Navarre.
Seite 211 - A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest ; And in they burst, and on they rushed, while like a guiding star, Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre.
Seite 212 - was passed from man to man. But out spake gentle Henry, " No Frenchman is my foe: Down, down with every foreigner, but let your brethren go.
Seite 72 - They gave him of the corn-land, That was of public right, As much as two strong oxen Could plough from morn till night : And they made a molten image, And set it up on high, And there it stands unto this day To witness if I lie.
Seite 74 - When the oldest cask is opened, And the largest lamp is lit ; When the chestnuts glow in the embers, And the kid turns on the spit ; When young and old in circle Around the firebrands close ; When the girls are weaving baskets, And the lads are shaping bows...
Seite 68 - Alone stood brave Horatius, But constant still in mind; Thrice thirty thousand foes before, And the broad flood behind. "Down with him!" cried false Sextus, With a smile on his pale face; "Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, "Now yield thee to our grace.
Seite 218 - And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters. As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy.
Seite 219 - And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears. There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land: And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand: And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's...
Seite 223 - Lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown, And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down. So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that famed Picard field, Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Caesar's eagle shield.
Seite 73 - And in the nights of winter, When the cold north winds blow, And the long howling of the wolves Is heard amidst the snow ; When round the lonely cottage Roars loud the tempest's din, And the good logs of Algidus Roar louder yet within...

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