Library of the World's Best Literature, Ancient and Modern, 9. köide

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Charles Dudley Warner
International Society, 1897
 

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Page 3847 - In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round: And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
Page 3849 - It perched for vespers nine ; Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, Glimmered the white Moon-shine." " God save thee, ancient Mariner ! From the fiends, that plague thee thus ! — Why look'st thou so ? " — " With my cross-bow I shot the ALBATROSS.
Page 3868 - He threw his blood-stained sword, in thunder, down ; And with a withering look, The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe...
Page 3852 - And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast! Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed, And sent my soul abroad, Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give, Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live! II A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear, A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief, Which finds no natural outlet, no relief, In word, or sigh, or tear— 0 Lady!
Page 3829 - IT fortifies my soul to know That, though I perish, Truth is so : That, howsoe'er I stray and range, Whate'er I do, Thou dost not change. I steadier step when I recall That, if I slip, Thou dost not fall.
Page 3831 - When fell the night, upsprung the breeze, And all the darkling hours they plied, Nor dreamt but each the self-same seas By each was cleaving, side by side : E'en so — but why the tale reveal Of those whom, year by year unchanged, Brief absence joined anew to feel, Astounded, soul from soul estranged?
Page 3867 - twas wild. But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair, What was thy delighted measure ? Still it whisper'd promised pleasure And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail!
Page 3853 - Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud — We in ourselves rejoice! And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight, All melodies the echoes of that voice, All colours a suffusion from that light.
Page 3852 - WELL ! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence, This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence Unroused by winds, that ply a busier trade Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes, Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes Upon the strings of this ^Eolian lute, Which better far were mute.
Page 3866 - How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

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