What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
accessory sentence accus accusative added adjective already Anglo-Saxon Beóv bote bûtan bute buten buton century Chaucer Chron conjunction considered construction Crist dative doubt ealle earlier Engl English entirely eóv examples exceptive explained express forms frequently Genes genitive gode Goldsm Henry heom heora hine hire inflection instance John king language later manner masc Mätzner meaning nature negative never object occurs opinion original passage pät period pers personal pronouns plur plural possessive preposition principal sentence quoted rarely reason reenforcing refer reflective pronouns reflective relation regard relation rule Scott selfe sellfenn sense seolf simple sing speak Spenser stage substantive sylf sylfne third person thou transition verb whilst þâ þam þät
Page 38 - THE boy stood on the burning deck, Whence all but him had fled, The flame that lit the battle's wreck Shone round him o'er the dead. Yet beautiful and bright he stood, As born to rule the storm ; A creature of heroic blood, A proud though childlike form.
Page 44 - I will conclude this first fruit of friendship, which is, that this communicating of a man's self to his friend works two contrary effects, for it redoubleth joys, and cutteth griefs in halves; for there is no man that imparteth his joys to his friend, but he joyeth the more; and no man that imparteth his griefs to his friend, but he grieveth the less.
Page 60 - Or the nard in the fire ? Or have tasted the bag of the bee ? O so white ! O so soft ! O so sweet is she...
Page 59 - In bigness to surpass earth's giant sons, Now less than smallest dwarfs in narrow room Throng numberless...
Page 54 - Morar, thou art low indeed. Thou hast no mother to mourn thee; no maid with her tears of love. Dead is she that brought thee forth. Fallen is the daughter of Morglan. Who on his staff is this? who is this whose head is white with age?
Page 45 - Not a pine in my grove is there seen, But with tendrils of woodbine is bound; Not a beech's more beautiful green But a sweet-brier entwines it around. Not my fields, in the prime of the year, More charms than my cattle unfold; Not a brook that is limpid and clear, But it glitters with fishes of gold.
Page 22 - Bote if hoe wende hire mod, For serewe mon ich wakese wod, Other miselve quelle. Ich hevede i-thout miself to slo ; For then radde a frend me go To the mi sereve telle.
Page 44 - Ay, your times were fine times indeed; you have been telling us of them for many a long year. Here we live in an old rumbling mansion, that looks for all the world like an inn, but that we never see company.
Page 68 - I vow, Mr Hardcastle, you're very particular. Is there a creature in the whole country, but ourselves, that does not take a trip to town now and then, to rub off the rust a little?
Page 38 - And now we leave the camp, and descend towards the west, and are on the Ash-down. We are treading on heroes. It is . sacred ground for Englishmen, more sacred than all but one or two fields where their bones lie whitening. For this is the actual place where our Alfred won his great battle, the battle of Ashdown ("^Escendum" in the chroniclers), which broke the Danish power, and made England a Christian land.