Poems of Old AgeGeorge Coolidge, 1861 - 128 ページ |
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... give To those whose filial piety Merits the chosen bliss , to live . What though my head be white as snow , My forehead ploughed by many a furrow , My body bent like Indian bow , And I a stick am fain to borrow ? What though my sight ...
... give To those whose filial piety Merits the chosen bliss , to live . What though my head be white as snow , My forehead ploughed by many a furrow , My body bent like Indian bow , And I a stick am fain to borrow ? What though my sight ...
13 ページ
... give my heart a mild delight . " Tis like the summer twilight eve ; Though not so bright as morning's ray , Yet soft and sweet , and hard to leave As the more gorgeous tints of day . What though grim Death , with iron hand , Hath ...
... give my heart a mild delight . " Tis like the summer twilight eve ; Though not so bright as morning's ray , Yet soft and sweet , and hard to leave As the more gorgeous tints of day . What though grim Death , with iron hand , Hath ...
19 ページ
... country's enemy . What knight could do a better thing Than serve the poor , and fight for his king ? And so may every head Of an ancient family . George Colman , " the younger . " GIVE ME THE OLD . Old wine to drink , POEMS OF OLD AGE . 19.
... country's enemy . What knight could do a better thing Than serve the poor , and fight for his king ? And so may every head Of an ancient family . George Colman , " the younger . " GIVE ME THE OLD . Old wine to drink , POEMS OF OLD AGE . 19.
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GIVE ME THE OLD . Old wine to drink , old wood to burn , old books to read , and old friends to converse with . OLD wine to drink ! Ay , give the slippery juice That drippeth from the grape thrown loose Within the tun ; Plucked from ...
GIVE ME THE OLD . Old wine to drink , old wood to burn , old books to read , and old friends to converse with . OLD wine to drink ! Ay , give the slippery juice That drippeth from the grape thrown loose Within the tun ; Plucked from ...
28 ページ
... out , O bells , your sweetest lay ! And you , dear friends , give loving cheers , To crown their march of fifty years . How few of us saw blushing bride And joyous groom 28 POEMS OF OLD AGE . A GOLDEN WEDDING SONG. ...
... out , O bells , your sweetest lay ! And you , dear friends , give loving cheers , To crown their march of fifty years . How few of us saw blushing bride And joyous groom 28 POEMS OF OLD AGE . A GOLDEN WEDDING SONG. ...
多く使われている語句
Angel auld lang syne Auld Robin Gray beam beauty blessed bloom bosom boys bright brow cheek cold Cousin Jane days of auld dear death door dream Eliza Cook eyes faded Father William fear flowers Frae friends gentle gone Goody Blake grandmother grave gray hair gray old growing old hand happy harp Harry Gill hath head hear heart Heaven Jamie knee life's light live look MAN-AT-ARMS minstrel mother mother's kiss mourn neath never night o'er old English gentleman old familiar faces OLD MAN'S olden Perilla Pilgrim Society poor pray psalm quoth the gray rose round scene sigh silent silver streak sing smile songs of auld songs our fathers sorrow soul stars sweet tears teeth they chatter tell thee There's thou hast Tommy's dead tree Twas wandering weary wind window binding shoes wrinkled young Young Harry youth
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48 ページ - BREATHES there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land? Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned From wandering on a foreign strand? If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no minstrel raptures swell ; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim, — Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly...
113 ページ - So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, that moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
23 ページ - All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I loved a Love once, fairest among women : Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her — All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
46 ページ - Though born in such a high degree ; In pride of power, in beauty's bloom, Had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody tomb ! When kindness had his wants supplied, And the old man was gratified, Began to rise his minstrel pride ; And he began to talk anon, Of good Earl Francis, dead and gone, And of Earl Walter...
63 ページ - I saw him once before, As he passed by the door, And again The pavement stones resound, As he totters o'er the ground With his cane. They say that in his prime, Ere the pruning-knife of Time Cut him down, Not a better man was found By the Crier on his round Through the town. But now he walks the streets, And he looks at all he meets Sad and wan, And he shakes his feeble head, That it seems as if he said, "They are gone.
4 ページ - Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
106 ページ - He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know, At first sight, if the bird be flown ; But what fair well or grove he sings in now, That is to him unknown.
42 ページ - CHORUS. For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne. We twa hae run about the braes, And pu'd the gowans fine ; But we've wander'd mony a weary foot Sin auld lang syne.
95 ページ - No word to any man he utters, A-bed or up, to young or old ; But ever to himself he mutters, " Poor Harry Gill is very cold." A-bed or up, by night or day ; His teeth they chatter, chatter still, Now think, ye farmers all, I pray, Of Goody Blake and Harry GilL I WANDERED lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills.
50 ページ - SWEET TEVIOT ! on thy silver tide The glaring bale-fires blaze no more ; No longer steel-clad warriors ride Along thy wild and willowed shore ; Where'er thou wind'st, by dale or hill, All, all is peaceful, all is still, As if thy waves, since Time was born, Since first they rolled upon the Tweed, Had only heard the shepherd's reed, Nor started at the bugle-horn.