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72 |
ORTHOMETRY. |
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Then shook the hills with thunder riven ; Then rushed the steed, to battle driven ; And louder than the bolts of Heaven Far flashed the red artillery.
Campbell. " Hohenlinden."
Let's contend no more, Love,
Strive nor weep; All be as before, Love,
—Only sleep!
R. Browning. "A Woman's Last Word.'
Now all is hushed save where the weak-eyed bat
With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing,
Or where the beetle winds
His small but sullen horn.
Collins. " Ode to Evening."
We three archers be, Rangers that move through the north countree, Lovers of ven'son and liberty,
That value not honour or money.
A non.
The rising morn has hid the stars; Her level rays, like golden bars, Lie on the landscape green, With shadows brown between.
Longfellow. " Endymion,"
That fawn-skin dappled hair of hers, And the blue eye, Dear and dewy, And that infantine fresh air of hers I
A'. Brozvning. " A Pretty Woman." |
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