Chambers's Cyclopaedia of English Literature: A History Critical and Biographical of Authors in the English Tongue from the Earliest Times Till the Present Day, with Specimens of Their Writing, Volume 1W. & R. Chambers, 1901 - Authors, English |
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Page 5
... lord , and has from him lands and wealth . But | his rival , Heorrenda , supplants him , and this song is written to ... lord's death . Hygelac died in 520. Beowulf placed Hygelac's son on the throne , and after his death reigned fifty ...
... lord , and has from him lands and wealth . But | his rival , Heorrenda , supplants him , and this song is written to ... lord's death . Hygelac died in 520. Beowulf placed Hygelac's son on the throne , and after his death reigned fifty ...
Page 16
... Lord shall go Hugest of upheaving fires o'er the far - spread earth ! Hurtles the hot flame , and the heavens burst asunder , All the firm - set flashing planets fall out of their places . Then the sun that erst o'er the elder world ...
... Lord shall go Hugest of upheaving fires o'er the far - spread earth ! Hurtles the hot flame , and the heavens burst asunder , All the firm - set flashing planets fall out of their places . Then the sun that erst o'er the elder world ...
Page 23
... Lord , who liest in sorrow , rejoice now , laugh , and be blithe ; our harms are well avenged . ' Adam and Eve are left conscious of their fall . Their love is not shattered ; there is no mutual reproach . Eve's tenderness is as deep as ...
... Lord , who liest in sorrow , rejoice now , laugh , and be blithe ; our harms are well avenged . ' Adam and Eve are left conscious of their fall . Their love is not shattered ; there is no mutual reproach . Eve's tenderness is as deep as ...
Page 25
... Lord , this apple is so sweet , Blithe within the breast ; bright this messenger ; ' Tis an Angel good from God ! By his gear I see That he is the errand - bringer of our heavenly King ! I can see Him now from hence Where Himself He ...
... Lord , this apple is so sweet , Blithe within the breast ; bright this messenger ; ' Tis an Angel good from God ! By his gear I see That he is the errand - bringer of our heavenly King ! I can see Him now from hence Where Himself He ...
Page 52
... lord not only entertains him hospitably , but promises to lead him to the Green Chapel , which is hard by , on the appointed day . Meanwhile Gawain must stay at the castle to rest himself , and his host bargains that he will on three ...
... lord not only entertains him hospitably , but promises to lead him to the Green Chapel , which is hard by , on the appointed day . Meanwhile Gawain must stay at the castle to rest himself , and his host bargains that he will on three ...
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Common terms and phrases
Ælfred agayne Beowulf Bible Bishop Brythons Cædmon called Canterbury Canterbury Tales century Chaucer Christ Chronicle Church Cynewulf death doth doun edition England English poetry Euphuism Faerie Queene fair French grene gret grete hand hath haue Henry Henry VIII honour Huchown John king Kingis Quair knight kyng lady land Latin Layamon legend lines literary lived London Lord lyke maner master myght mynde never noble nocht Northumbria play poem poet poetic poetry printed probably prose Queen Quen quhen quhilk quod rhyme Richard romance sayd Scotland Scots Scottish shal Shep song sonnets Spenser stanzas story tale tell thai thair thee thenne ther theyr thing Thomas thou thow thyng tion translation trewe tyme unto Vercelli Book verse whan William wolde words writing written wrote wyll Wynkyn de Worde wyth
Popular passages
Page 368 - Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves ; And ye that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him, When he comes back ; you demi-puppets that By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make, Whereof the ewe not bites ; and you, whose pastime Is to make midnight mushrooms...
Page 356 - This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands, — This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth...
Page 362 - Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied : for though the camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted the sooner it wears.
Page 368 - Dis's waggon! daffodils That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath...
Page 355 - So many hours must I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself...
Page 358 - Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; Anon permit the basest clouds to ride With ugly rack on his celestial face, And from the forlorn world his visage hide, Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace.
Page 349 - A gown made of the finest wool, Which from our pretty lambs we pull, Fair lined slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold. ' A belt of straw and ivy buds With coral clasps and amber studs : And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me and be my Love.
Page 362 - A made a finer end, and went away, an it had been any christom child ; 'a parted even just between twelve and one, even at the turning o' the tide : for after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile upon his fingers...
Page 349 - Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten: In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs, All these in me no means can move To come to thee, and be thy love.
Page 408 - And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines ! Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit. The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please ; But antiquated and deserted lie, As they were not of nature's family. Yet must I not give nature all ; thy art, My gentle SHAKESPEARE, must enjoy a part.