Τι λένε οι χρήστες - Σύνταξη κριτικής
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The Standard Fifth Reader: (First-Class Standard Reader): For Public and ...
Δεν υπάρχει διαθέσιμη προεπισκόπηση - 2015
Aaron Burr American arms art thou Ashton Auvergne beautiful blood born brave breath Brutus Calais called Cassio cataphracts character Cicero death Delivery Demosthenes dost doth earth England expression eyes father fear feel force genius gentle give glory goddess of Poverty Grattan hand happy hath hear heart heaven HENRY GRATTAN honor human Iago Index inflection Ireland justice king labor land liberty light Lioni living Lochinvar look lord loud Lyre Michael Cassio middle pitch mind nation nature never noble o'er Orotund Quality passions pauses peace poem poet poetry praise Pronounce pure Ravenswood rise seillful Shakespeare Shylock silent sing Sir F Sir Lucius slave slavery song soul sound speak speech spirit style sword tears tell thee thine things thou thought tion tone true utterance voice words Zounds
Σελίδα 60 - The sound must seem an echo to the sense. Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows ; But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar...
Σελίδα 443 - Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear: If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground! Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, • Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow, The world should listen then, as I am listening now.
Σελίδα 325 - Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State! Sail on, O UNION, strong and great! Humanity with all its fears, With all the hopes of future years, Is hanging breathless on thy fate! We know what Master laid thy keel, What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, What anvils rang, what hammers beat, In what a forge, and what a heat Were shaped the anchors of thy hope!
Σελίδα 184 - Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke: How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
Σελίδα 72 - ... accent of Christians nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed that I have thought some of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably.
Σελίδα 63 - Hear the sledges with the bells Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight...
Σελίδα 85 - The basis of our political systems is the right of the people to make and to alter their constitutions of government. But the constitution which at any time exists till changed by an explicit and authentic act of the whole people is sacredly obligatory upon all. The very idea of the power and the right of the people to establish government presupposes the duty of every individual to obey the established government.
Σελίδα 40 - tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly; if the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch With his surcease success : that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, We'd jump the life to come.
Σελίδα 185 - The struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous Shame, Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learned to stray; Along the cool, sequestered vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Σελίδα 137 - Julius bleed for justice' sake ? What villain touched his body, that did stab, And not for justice ? What, shall one of us, That struck the foremost man of all this world, But for supporting robbers, shall we now Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, And sell the mighty space of our large honours For so much trash as may be grasped thus ? I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman.