The Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth LongfellowHoughton, Mifflin, 1878 - 417 pages |
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Page 8
... beneath The battle - cloud's encircling wreath , Guard it , till our homes are free ! Guard it ! God will prosper thee ! In the dark and trying hour , In the breaking forth of power , In the rush of steeds and men , His right hand will ...
... beneath The battle - cloud's encircling wreath , Guard it , till our homes are free ! Guard it ! God will prosper thee ! In the dark and trying hour , In the breaking forth of power , In the rush of steeds and men , His right hand will ...
Page 15
... Beneath a tyrant's galling chains And cruel power ; But , by fierce battle and blockade , Soon his own banner was displayed From every tower . By the tried valor of his hand , His monarch and his native land Were nobly served ; And ...
... Beneath a tyrant's galling chains And cruel power ; But , by fierce battle and blockade , Soon his own banner was displayed From every tower . By the tried valor of his hand , His monarch and his native land Were nobly served ; And ...
Page 19
... beneath this heavy burden , Gushing forth into bitter tears and sighs , And the voice , fainting , flagged upon its passage . FROM SPRING . THE FRENCH OF CHARLES D'ORLEANS . XV . CENTURY . GENTLE Spring ! in sunshine clad , Well dost ...
... beneath this heavy burden , Gushing forth into bitter tears and sighs , And the voice , fainting , flagged upon its passage . FROM SPRING . THE FRENCH OF CHARLES D'ORLEANS . XV . CENTURY . GENTLE Spring ! in sunshine clad , Well dost ...
Page 28
... beneath her bows , She drifted a dreary wreck , And a whooping billow swept the crew Like icicles from her deck . She struck where the white and fleecy waves Looked soft as carded wool , But the cruel rocks , they gored her side Like ...
... beneath her bows , She drifted a dreary wreck , And a whooping billow swept the crew Like icicles from her deck . She struck where the white and fleecy waves Looked soft as carded wool , But the cruel rocks , they gored her side Like ...
Page 33
... beneath it Paints a more beautiful world , a dim , but a sweet play of shadows ! Races , better than we , have leaned on her wavering promise , Having naught else but Hope . Then praise we our Father in heaven , Him , who has given us ...
... beneath it Paints a more beautiful world , a dim , but a sweet play of shadows ! Races , better than we , have leaned on her wavering promise , Having naught else but Hope . Then praise we our Father in heaven , Him , who has given us ...
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Common terms and phrases
Acadian Angel answered art thou beautiful behold beneath birds Bons amis breath bright brooklet Charlemagne Chispa cloud cried Dacotahs dark dead death door dreams earth EPIMETHEUS Evangeline eyes face fair feet fire flowers forest gazed gleam golden Grand-Pré guests Gypsy hand hast hath hear heard heart heaven HEPHÆSTUS Hiawatha Kenabeek King Olaf land Lara Laughing Laughing Water leaves light listen look loud maiden meadow Miles Standish mist Mondamin moon morning night Nokomis o'er Osseo PANDORA passed Pau-Puk-Keewis pray Prec river rose round rushing sails sang shadow shining ships Sigrid the Haughty silent singing sleep smile snow song Song of Hiawatha sorrow soul sound spake stars stood sunshine sweet tale Tharaw thee thine thou art thought unto Vict village voice wait walls wampum wander whispered wigwam wild wind words youth
Popular passages
Page 36 - The village smithy stands ; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands ; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.
Page 237 - So through the night rode Paul Revere; And so through the night went his cry of alarm To every Middlesex village and farm, — A cry of defiance and not of fear, A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, And a word that shall echo forevermore!
Page 40 - THE shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device, Excelsior...
Page 235 - All is well!" A moment only he feels the spell Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread Of the lonely belfry and the dead; For suddenly all his thoughts are bent On a shadowy something far away. Where the river widens to meet the bay, A line of black that bends and floats On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.
Page 87 - And tonight I long for rest. Read from some humbler poet, Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start; Who through long days of labor, And nights devoid of ease, Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies. Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer. Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty...
Page 37 - THE RAINY DAY. THE day is cold, and dark, and dreary ; It rains, and the wind is never weary ; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary. My life is cold, and dark, and dreary ; It rains, and the wind is never weary ; My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast And the days are dark and dreary. Be still, sad heart ! and cease repining ; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining...
Page 40 - and rest Thy weary head upon this breast!" A tear stood in his bright blue eye, But still he answered, with a sigh, Excelsior! "Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! Beware the awful avalanche!
Page 2 - TELL me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream ! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life Is real ! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal ; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Page 3 - The Reaper and the Flowers There is a Reaper whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between. "Shall I have nought that is fair?" saith he; "Have nought but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again.
Page 79 - Were half the power, that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth, bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals nor forts: The warrior's name would be a name abhorred!