Masterpieces of British Literature: Ruskin: Macaulay: Brown: Tennyson: Dickens: Wordsworth: Burns: Lamb: Coleridge: Byron: Cowper: Gray: Goldsmith: Addison and Steele: Milton: Bacon. With Biographical Sketches, Notes and Portraits
Horace Elisha Scudder
Houghton, Mifflin, 1895 - English literature - 480 pages
What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
appear beautiful better brother called close coming dead dear death died door English Enoch eyes face father fear fell followed gave give Gluck Gray green half hand head hear heard heart hill hour Italy James John kind knew land leaves light lived looked master means Milton mind morning nature never night once passed persons play pleasure poem poet poor rest returned river round seemed seen ship side soon soul sound speak spirit stood story strange sweet tell thee things thou thought till told took Travellers turned voice walk whole wind wood writing wrote young
Page 449 - Alas! what boots it with uncessant care To tend the homely slighted shepherd's trade, And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? Were it not better done as others use, To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair?
Page 171 - EARTH has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Page 165 - Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay; Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced, but they Outdid the sparkling waves in glee; A poet could not but be gay In such a jocund company; I gazed, and gazed, but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought.
Page 303 - 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 307 - THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Page 448 - And all their echoes, mourn. The Willows, and the Hazel Copses green, Shall now no more be seen, Fanning their joyous Leaves to thy soft lays. As killing as the Canker to the Rose, Or Taint-worm to the weanling Herds that graze, Or Frost to Flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear, When first the White-thorn blows; Such, Lycidas, thy loss to Shepherd's ear.
Page 373 - The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school ; The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind ; These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made.
Page 185 - November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ; The short'ning winter-day is near a close ; The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh ; The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose : The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes, This night his weekly moil is at an end, Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. At length his lonely cot appears in view, Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; Th' expectant...
Page 349 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn. Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Page 352 - Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing lingering look behind?