land (n.)
- acreage
- acres
- airspace
- ally
- archduchy
- area
- bag
- belt
- berth
- capture
- catch
- chieftaincy
- city-state
- colony
- commonweal
- commonwealth
- confines
- corridor
- country
- county
- demesne
- department
- dirt
- dismount
- district
- ditch
- division
- dock
- domain
- dominion
- duchy
- dukedom
- earldom
- earth
- empire
- entangle
- environs
- estate
- fatherland
- foul
- get
- ground
- grounds
- harpoon
- heartland
- hinterland
- homeland
- honor
- hook
- kingdom
- lands
- lasso
- light
- loam
- lot
- lots
- mandant
- mandate
- mandatory
- manor
- mesh
- messuage
- milieu
- moor
- motherland
- mould
- nail
- nation
- nationality
- neighborhood
- net
- noose
- overshoot
- pancake
- parcel
- part
- parts
- perch
- place
- plat
- plot
- polis
- polity
- possession
- power
- premises
- principality
- property
- protectorate
- province
- quarter
- realm
- realty
- region
- republic
- roost
- rope
- sack
- salient
- satellite
- section
- settle
- settlement
- sit
- snag
- snare
- sod
- soil
- space
- spear
- state
- sultanate
- superpower
- take
- tangle
- terrain
- territory
- trap
- turf
- unboat
- vicinity
- win
- zone
land (v.)
- acquire
- alight
- ally
- arrive
- bag
- belt
- berth
- capture
- catch
- debark
- deplane
- descend
- detrain
- dirt
- disembark
- dismount
- district
- ditch
- dock
- earth
- enmesh
- ensnare
- entangle
- entrap
- estate
- foul
- get
- ground
- harpoon
- honor
- hook
- lasso
- light
- lot
- mandate
- mesh
- moor
- mould
- nail
- net
- noose
- obtain
- overshoot
- parcel
- part
- perch
- place
- plat
- plot
- power
- quarter
- roost
- rope
- sack
- satellite
- section
- secure
- settle
- sit
- snag
- snare
- sod
- soil
- space
- spear
- state
- take
- tangle
- trap
- turf
- unhorse
- win
- zone
land (adv.)
land (adj.)
"Be of good cheer," said Diogenes; "I see land."
Lord of thy presence and no land beside.
Thus far into the bowels of the land
Have we marched on without impediment.
Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand!
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be!
And deal damnation round the land.
Where's the coward that would not dare
To fight for such a land?
A land flowing with milk and honey.
Except by name, Jean Paul Friedrich Richter is little known out of Germany. The only thing connected with him, we think, that has reached this country is his saying,—imported by Madame de Staël, and thankfully pocketed by most newspaper critics,—"Providence has given to the French the empire of the land; to the English that of the sea; to the Germans that of—the air!"
When Israel was from bondage led,
Led by the Almighty's hand
From out of foreign land,
The great sea beheld and fled.
Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay.
Princes and lords may flourish or may fade,—
A breath can make them, as a breath has made;
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride,
When once destroy'd, can never be supplied.
Into the silent land!
Ah, who shall lead us thither?
The light that never was, on sea or land;
The consecration, and the Poet's dream.
Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand,
They rave, recite, and madden round the land.
My native land, good night!
Breathes there the man with soul so dead
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd
From wandering on a foreign strand?
If such there breathe, go, mark him well!
For him no minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim,—
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.
Embosom'd in the deep where Holland lies.
Methinks her patient sons before me stand,
Where the broad ocean leans against the land.
The stately homes of England,—
How beautiful they stand,
Amid their tall ancestral trees,
O'er all the pleasant land!
When Israel, of the Lord belov'd,
Out of the land of bondage came,
Her fathers' God before her mov'd,
An awful guide in smoke and flame.
O Caledonia! stern and wild,
Meet nurse for a poetic child!
Land of brown heath and shaggy wood;
Land of the mountain and the flood!
That knuckle-end of England,—that land of Calvin, oat-cakes, and sulphur.
The land of darkness and the shadow of death.
A pleasing land of drowsyhed it was,
Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye;
And of gay castles in the clouds that pass,
Forever flushing round a summer sky:
There eke the soft delights that witchingly
Instil a wanton sweetness through the breast,
And the calm pleasures always hover'd nigh;
But whate'er smack'd of noyance or unrest
Was far, far off expell'd from this delicious nest.
My country, 't is of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing:
Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrims' pride,
From every mountain-side
Let freedom ring.
Land of lost gods and godlike men.
O Love! what hours were thine and mine,
In lands of palm and southern pine;
In lands of palm, of orange-blossom,
Of olive, aloe, and maize and vine!
O Love! what hours were thine and mine,
In lands of palm and southern pine;
In lands of palm, of orange-blossom,
Of olive, aloe, and maize and vine!
There is a land of pure delight,
Where saints immortal reign;
Infinite day excludes the night,
And pleasures banish pain.
The land of scholars and the nurse of arms.
Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle
Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime;
Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle,
Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime?
Again to the battle, Achaians!
Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance!
Our land, the first garden of Liberty's tree,
It has been, and shall yet be, the land of the free.
And the star-spangled banner, oh long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
There's nae sorrow there, John,
There's neither cauld nor care, John,
The day is aye fair,
In the land o' the leal.
The land of the living.
O Caledonia! stern and wild,
Meet nurse for a poetic child!
Land of brown heath and shaggy wood;
Land of the mountain and the flood!
My country, 't is of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing:
Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrims' pride,
From every mountain-side
Let freedom ring.
I always like to begin a journey on Sundays, because I shall have the prayers of the Church to preserve all that travel by land or by water.
The applause of list'ning senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
And read their history in a nation's eyes.
A faithful and good servant is a real godsend; but truly 't is a rare bird in the land.
When my eyes shall be turned to behold for the last time the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union; on States dissevered, discordant, belligerent; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood.
I 've often wish'd that I had clear,
For life, six hundred pounds a year;
A handsome house to lodge a friend;
A river at my garden's end;
A terrace walk, and half a rood
Of land set out to plant a wood.
The freeman casting with unpurchased hand
The vote that shakes the turrets of the land.
Thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait.
I have been a stranger in a strange land.
From all who dwell below the skies
Let the Creator's praise arise;
Let the Redeemer's name be sung
Through every land, by every tongue.
How fast has brother followed brother,
From sunshine to the sunless land!
They love their land because it is their own,
And scorn to give aught other reason why;
Would shake hands with a king upon his throne,
And think it kindness to his Majesty.
With thee conversing I forget all time,
All seasons, and their change,—all please alike.
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet,
With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun
When first on this delightful land he spreads
His orient beams on herb, tree, fruit, and flower,
Glist'ring with dew; fragrant the fertile earth
After soft showers; and sweet the coming on
Of grateful ev'ning mild; then silent night
With this her solemn bird and this fair moon,
And these the gems of heaven, her starry train:
But neither breath of morn when she ascends
With charm of earliest birds, nor rising sun
On this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flower,
Glist'ring with dew, nor fragrance after showers,
Nor grateful ev'ning mild, nor silent night
With this her solemn bird, nor walk by moon
Or glittering starlight, without thee is sweet.
Where's the coward that would not dare
To fight for such a land?
And from his ashes may be made
The violet of his native land.
O Christ! it is a goodly sight to see
What Heaven hath done for this delicious land.
My country, 't is of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing:
Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrims' pride,
From every mountain-side
Let freedom ring.
The path of sorrow, and that path alone,
Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown.
Know'st thou the land where the lemon-trees bloom,
Where the gold orange glows in the deep thicket's gloom,
Where a wind ever soft from the blue heaven blows,
And the groves of laurel and myrtle and rose?
Ships are but boards, sailors but men: there be land-rats and water-rats, water-thieves and land-thieves.
Ships are but boards, sailors but men: there be land-rats and water-rats, water-thieves and land-thieves.
