Accepted Addresses; Or, Proemium Poetarum: To which are Added, Macbeth Travestie, in Three Acts, and Miscellanies, by Different Hands |
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Accepted Addresses, Or Proemium Poetarum: To Which Are Added, Macbeth ... No preview available - 2016 |
Common terms and phrases
ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES Art thou Ballinderry Banquo bell bird bless bonnet boughs bright Carlisle wall CHARLES KINGSLEY cheek cold cried darling dead dear door doth dreams ELIZA COOK Enter Macbeth eyes fair on Carlisle farewell fear flower of fairy friar gold green things growing Gwenwynwyn hair hand happy haste head heard heart heaven hobby King Kinsale kissed Lady Macbeth land Lenox light Lochinvar look Lord lover Macduff maid March violets morning mother mournfully Nautilus ne'er Netherby never night o'er Ochone old arm chair old familiar faces old stage door poor pray Red Riding Hood RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM rose round sail sigh sing smile solitude of Binnorie song soul stay steed stone stood sun shines fair sweet tear tell Thane thee There's thought Twas Vauxhall violets wear wild wind Witch word
Popular passages
Page 146 - Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
Page 150 - By this the storm grew loud apace; The water-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking. But still as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men — Their trampling sounded nearer. "Oh! haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, "Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father.
Page 148 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest With his martial cloak around him.
Page 178 - With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ; His youthful hose well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank ; and his big, manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange, eventful history, Is second childishness, and mere oblivion ; Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.
Page 176 - Had cheer'd the village with his song, Nor yet at eve his note suspended, Nor yet when eventide was ended, Began to feel, as well he might, The keen demands of appetite ; When, looking eagerly around, He spied far off, upon the ground, A something shining in the dark, And knew the glowworm by his spark ; So stooping down from hawthorn top, He thought to put him in his crop. The worm, aware of his intent, Harangued him thus, right eloquent — Did you admire my lamp...
Page 177 - All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits, and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms; And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel, And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school: And then, the lover; Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress...
Page 150 - I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father." The boat has left a stormy land, A stormy sea before her, — When, oh ! too strong for human hand, The tempest gathered o'er her.
Page 148 - But half of our heavy task was done When the clock struck the hour for retiring : And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.
Page 165 - That age is best, which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry: For having lost but once your prime, You may for ever tarry.
Page 145 - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast...