The Princess: A MedleyScott, Foresman, 1899 - 169 pages |
From inside the book
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Page 23
... secret . Lady Blanche , mother of Melissa and rival to Lady Psyche , also learns of the alarming invasion , and remains silent for sinister reasons of her own . On the second day the principal personages picnic in a wood THE PRINCESS 23.
... secret . Lady Blanche , mother of Melissa and rival to Lady Psyche , also learns of the alarming invasion , and remains silent for sinister reasons of her own . On the second day the principal personages picnic in a wood THE PRINCESS 23.
Page 25
... mother , she kisses it and feels that " her heart is barren . When she passes near the wounded Prince , and is shown by his father - his beard wet with his son's blood - her hair and pic- ture on her lover's heart , Her iron will was ...
... mother , she kisses it and feels that " her heart is barren . When she passes near the wounded Prince , and is shown by his father - his beard wet with his son's blood - her hair and pic- ture on her lover's heart , Her iron will was ...
Page 26
... mother . For its sake the mother is pardoned . " In remembering the serious meaning of The Princess , of which the child is the symbol and central force , we must not forget that the work is -as it is entitled - a Medley , of which ...
... mother . For its sake the mother is pardoned . " In remembering the serious meaning of The Princess , of which the child is the symbol and central force , we must not forget that the work is -as it is entitled - a Medley , of which ...
Page 42
... mother said , the story ran . And , truly , waking dreams were , more or less , An old and strange affection of the ... mother pitying made a thousand prayers ; My mother was as mild as any saint , Half - canonised by all that look'd on ...
... mother said , the story ran . And , truly , waking dreams were , more or less , An old and strange affection of the ... mother pitying made a thousand prayers ; My mother was as mild as any saint , Half - canonised by all that look'd on ...
Page 46
... mother - city thick with towers , And in the imperial palace found the king . His name was Gama ; crack'd and small his voice , But bland the smile that like a wrinkling wind On glassy water drove his cheek in lines ; A little dry old ...
... mother - city thick with towers , And in the imperial palace found the king . His name was Gama ; crack'd and small his voice , But bland the smile that like a wrinkling wind On glassy water drove his cheek in lines ; A little dry old ...
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Common terms and phrases
Alfred Tennyson answer'd Arac arms Arthur Arthur Hallam babe betwixt Blow breathe brother brows call'd Carian child cried Cyril Danaid dark daughter dead death dream dropt English enter'd eyes face fair father fight Florian flying friends Gama girl golden Guinevere half hall Hallam hand head hear heard heart Heaven king King Arthur knew Lady Blanche Lady Psyche land light Lilia Lionel Tennyson lips lived Locksley Hall look'd Lord Lord Tennyson Love's Labours Lost maiden maids Melissa morning mother moved night noble o'er Oppian ourself palace poem poet Prince Princess Princess Ida Psyche's rapt Rasselas rode roll'd rose round sang seem'd shadow shame shook Somersby song spake speak spoke star stood strange sweet talk'd tears tender Tennyson thee thou thought thro Tiresias Tomyris turn'd vext voice wild wind woman women word
Popular passages
Page 84 - Dear as remember'd kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd On lips that are for others ; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret ; O Death in Life, the days that are no more.
Page 68 - Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon ; Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon : Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.
Page 82 - Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying. Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O, hark, O, hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going! O, sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O love, they die in yon rich sky. They faint on hill or field or river; Our echoes roll from soul to soul. And grow for ever and for ever.
Page 146 - Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine, Nor find him dropt upon the firths of ice, That huddling slant in furrow-cloven falls To roll the torrent out of dusky doors: But follow; let the torrent dance thee down To find him in the valley; let the wild Lean-headed Eagles yelp alone...
Page 83 - And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
Page 149 - For woman is not undevelopt man, But diverse : could we make her as the man, Sweet Love were slain : his dearest bond is this, Not like to like, but like in difference. Yet in the long years liker must they grow ; The man be more of woman, she of man ; He gain in sweetness and in moral height, Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world ; She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care, Nor lose the childlike in the larger mind ; Till at the last she set herself to man, Like perfect music unto...
Page 82 - The splendour falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Page 150 - Happy he With such a mother ! faith in womankind Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high Comes easy to him, and tho' he trip and fall He shall not blind his soul with clay.
Page 166 - Or let my lamp at midnight hour Be seen in some high lonely tower, Where I may oft out-watch the Bear...
Page 85 - O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, and light upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill, and cheep and twitter twenty million loves. O were I thou that she might take me in, and lay me on her bosom, and her heart would rock the snowy cradle till I died. Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love, delaying as the tender ash delays to clothe herself, when all the woods are green!