The Speaker's Garland and Literary Bouquet: Combining 100 Choice Selections, Nos. 1, 2, 3 and 4. Four Vol. in One. Embracing Rare Poetical Gems, Fine Specimens Oratory ...P. Garrett & Company, 1876 |
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Seite vi
... There once was a Toper ... ii . 56 Tubal Cain ..... Charles Mackay . ii . 69 There's but one pair of Stockings to Mend to - night ........ ii . 136 Tim Tuff ...... Through Death to Life .......... ........... Edward Capern . ili ...
... There once was a Toper ... ii . 56 Tubal Cain ..... Charles Mackay . ii . 69 There's but one pair of Stockings to Mend to - night ........ ii . 136 Tim Tuff ...... Through Death to Life .......... ........... Edward Capern . ili ...
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... There is no effort of science or art that may not be ex- ceeded ; no depth of philosophy that cannot be deeper sounded ... there's the respect That makes celibacy of so long life ; For who would bear the quips and jeers of friende , The ...
... There is no effort of science or art that may not be ex- ceeded ; no depth of philosophy that cannot be deeper sounded ... there's the respect That makes celibacy of so long life ; For who would bear the quips and jeers of friende , The ...
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... There was lack of woman's nursing , there was dearth of wom ɩn's tears ; But a comrade stood beside him , while his ... There's another - not a sister ; in the happy days gone by , You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in ...
... There was lack of woman's nursing , there was dearth of wom ɩn's tears ; But a comrade stood beside him , while his ... There's another - not a sister ; in the happy days gone by , You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in ...
Seite 54
... There's a foe on our border , — A foe striding on to the gulf of his doom ; Freemen are rising and marching in order , Leaving the plough and the anvil and loom . Rust dims the harvest - sheen Of scythe and of sickle keen ; The axe ...
... There's a foe on our border , — A foe striding on to the gulf of his doom ; Freemen are rising and marching in order , Leaving the plough and the anvil and loom . Rust dims the harvest - sheen Of scythe and of sickle keen ; The axe ...
Seite 55
... there's a patriot hand Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war ! HEZEKIAH STUBBINS ' ORATION , July 4th . FELLER ... there ain't a peg out - a jint loose , or the cogs don't want greasin ' . You've got to overhaul the conductors you've ...
... there's a patriot hand Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war ! HEZEKIAH STUBBINS ' ORATION , July 4th . FELLER ... there ain't a peg out - a jint loose , or the cogs don't want greasin ' . You've got to overhaul the conductors you've ...
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Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
Alfred Tennyson arms Bardell beautiful bells beneath bless blood brave breast breath bright brow child cold cried Dacotahs dark dead dear death deep door dream dying earth eyes face fall father fell fellah fire flag flowers gazed glory gone grave hand hath head hear heard heart heaven Hiawatha honor hour Ishmael Day JOSH BILLINGS land Lars Porsena laugh Laughing Water light lips live look Lord morning mother N. P. Willis neath never Nevermore night Nokomis o'er pale Pickwick poor pray prayer Quoth the raven ring SHAMUS Shibboleth shout silence sleep smile sorrow soul Spartacus spirit stand star-spangled banner stars stood sweet sword tears tell thee there's thing thou thought Toll Twas voice wave weary weep wife wild wonder word young
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 7 - O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Seite 35 - Both read the same Bible and pray to the same God, and each invokes His aid against the other. It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God's assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men's faces, but let us judge not, that we be not judged.
Seite 134 - The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Seite 103 - 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. The noble Brutus Hath told you Caesar was ambitious. If it were so, it was a grievous fault; And grievously hath Caesar answered it.
Seite 92 - Thou art where friend meets friend, Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest — Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set — but all — Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death ! THE LOST PLEIAD.
Seite 59 - I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied; — Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide,- And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.
Seite 126 - Came through the jaws of Death Back from the mouth of Hell, — All that was left of them, Left of six hundred.
Seite 71 - Thrilled me— filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, " 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door: Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door: This it is and nothing more.
Seite 59 - for Aix is in sight!' 'How they'll greet us!' — and all in a moment his roan Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, And with circles of red for his eye-sockets
Seite 109 - The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make, With a bare bodkin?