Poetical Works of Matthew ArnoldMacmillan, 1896 - 510 páginas |
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Página viii
... AND RUSTUM THE SICK KING IN BOKHARA 92 585 65 BALDER DEAD- I. SENDING ΙΟΙ 2. JOURNEY TO THE DEAD III 121 3. FUNERAL TRISTRAM AND ISEULT- I. TRISTRAM 2. ISEULT OF IRELAND 3. ISEULT OF BRITTANY 138 150 158 viii CONTENTS.
... AND RUSTUM THE SICK KING IN BOKHARA 92 585 65 BALDER DEAD- I. SENDING ΙΟΙ 2. JOURNEY TO THE DEAD III 121 3. FUNERAL TRISTRAM AND ISEULT- I. TRISTRAM 2. ISEULT OF IRELAND 3. ISEULT OF BRITTANY 138 150 158 viii CONTENTS.
Página 138
... ISEULT 8 75 162 I Tristram Tristram ; 34 Is she not come ? The messenger was sure . Prop me upon the pillows once ... Iseult . The Page Tristram Ah ! not the Iseult I desire . * * bang ! What Knight is this so weak and pale , Though 138 ...
... ISEULT 8 75 162 I Tristram Tristram ; 34 Is she not come ? The messenger was sure . Prop me upon the pillows once ... Iseult . The Page Tristram Ah ! not the Iseult I desire . * * bang ! What Knight is this so weak and pale , Though 138 ...
Página 139
... the sweet flower ? Is it that a deep fatigue Hath come on her , a chilly fear , Passing all her youthful hour Spinning with her maidens here , Listlessly through the window - bars Gazing seawards many a TRISTRAM AND ISEULT 139.
... the sweet flower ? Is it that a deep fatigue Hath come on her , a chilly fear , Passing all her youthful hour Spinning with her maidens here , Listlessly through the window - bars Gazing seawards many a TRISTRAM AND ISEULT 139.
Página 140
... Iseult of Brittany . Iseult of Brittany ? -but where Is that other Iseult fair , That proud , first Iseult , Cornwall's queen ? She , whom Tristram's ship of yore From Ireland to Cornwall bore , To Tyntagel , to the side Of King Marc ...
... Iseult of Brittany . Iseult of Brittany ? -but where Is that other Iseult fair , That proud , first Iseult , Cornwall's queen ? She , whom Tristram's ship of yore From Ireland to Cornwall bore , To Tyntagel , to the side Of King Marc ...
Página 141
... Iseult of Ireland ? * * * * ཨའི་ གདུའི་ марилос Loud howls the wind , sharp patters the rain , And the knight sinks back on his pillows again . He is weak with fever and pain , And his spirit is not clear ... ISEULT 141 ISEULT OF IRELAND.
... Iseult of Ireland ? * * * * ཨའི་ གདུའི་ марилос Loud howls the wind , sharp patters the rain , And the knight sinks back on his pillows again . He is weak with fever and pain , And his spirit is not clear ... ISEULT 141 ISEULT OF IRELAND.
Otras ediciones - Ver todas
POETICAL WORKS OF MATTHEW ARNO Matthew 1822-1888 Arnold,Pbl MacMillan & Co Sin vista previa disponible - 2016 |
Poetical Works of Matthew Arnold Aid Worker Specialising in Post-Conflict Reconstruction Matthew Arnold,Matthew Arnold Sin vista previa disponible - 2016 |
Términos y frases comunes
Æpytus Æsir Arcas arms Asgard Balder behold blood blow breast breath bright brow Callicles calm Chorus cold Cresphontes Cypselus dark dead dear death deep Dorian Dorian lords dost doth dream earth Empedocles Epytus eyes fair fame fate father fear feel friends gaze gloom Gods gone grave grey grief hand hath head hear heard heart Heaven Hela's Heracleida Heracles Hermod hills Hoder hour Iseult King Laias light live lonely look'd Merope Messenian morn mother mourn night o'er Obermann Odin once Oxus pain pale pass'd Pausanias plain Polyphontes round Rustum sand sate Seistan shining side sleep Sleipner smile Sohrab soul spake spear spirit stand stars stood stream strife sweet tears Temenus thee thine thou art thou hast thought throne tomb Tristram voice wandering waves weep wilt wind youth Zeus
Pasajes populares
Página 228 - THE sea is calm to-night. The tide is full, the moon lies fair Upon the straits ; — on the French coast the light Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand, Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Página 280 - O life unlike to ours! Who fluctuate idly without term or scope, Of whom each strives, nor knows for what he strives, And each half lives a hundred different lives; Who wait like thee, but not, like thee, in hope. 170 Thou waitest for the spark from heaven! and we, Light half-believers of our casual creeds...
Página 228 - But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating, to the breath Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world.
Página 258 - With aching hands and bleeding feet We dig and heap, lay stone on stone ; We bear the burden and the heat Of the long day, and wish 'twere done. Not till the hours of light return, All we have built do we discern.
Página 292 - He too upon a wintry clime Had fallen — on this iron time Of doubts, disputes, distractions, fears. He found us when the age had bound Our souls in its benumbing round ; He spoke, and loosed our heart in tears. He laid us as we lay at birth On the cool flowery lap of earth...
Página 171 - Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, Where the winds are all asleep; Where the spent lights quiver and gleam; Where the salt weed sways in the stream; Where the sea-beasts, ranged all round, Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground...
Página 282 - And we should win thee from thy own fair life, Like us distracted, and like us unblest. Soon, soon thy cheer would die, Thy hopes grow timorous, and unfix'd thy powers, And thy clear aims be cross and shifting made : And then thy glad perennial youth would fade, Fade, and grow old at last, and die like ours.
Página 292 - Sunk, then, is Europe's sagest head. Physician of the iron age, Goethe has done his pilgrimage. He took the suffering human race. He read each wound, each weakness clear ; And struck his finger on the place, And said : Thou ailest here, and here ! He look'd on Europe's dying hour Of fitful dream and feverish power ; His eye plunged down the weltering strife.
Página 218 - Philomela Hark! ah, the Nightingale! The tawny-throated! Hark! from that moonlit cedar what a burst! What triumph! hark — what pain! O Wanderer from a Grecian shore, Still, after many years, in distant lands, Still nourishing in thy bewilder'd brain That wild, unquench'd, deep-sunken, old-world pain — Say, will it never heal...
Página 323 - Wandering between two worlds, one dead, The other powerless to be born, With nowhere yet to rest my head, Like these, on earth I wait forlorn. Their faith, my tears, the world deride— I come to shed them at their side.