Poems, Volume 2Ticknor and Fields, 1860 |
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Page 49
... Father of his Country , dwelt . And yonder meadows broad and damp The fires of the besieging camp Encircled with a burning belt . Up and down these echoing stairs , Heavy with the weight of cares , Sounded his majestic tread ; Yes ...
... Father of his Country , dwelt . And yonder meadows broad and damp The fires of the besieging camp Encircled with a burning belt . Up and down these echoing stairs , Heavy with the weight of cares , Sounded his majestic tread ; Yes ...
Page 133
... so with theirs ; For so long as words , like mortals , call a father- land their own , They will be most highly valued where they are best and longest known . CURFEW . 1 . SOLEMNLY , mournfully , Dealing its POETIC APHORISMS . 133.
... so with theirs ; For so long as words , like mortals , call a father- land their own , They will be most highly valued where they are best and longest known . CURFEW . 1 . SOLEMNLY , mournfully , Dealing its POETIC APHORISMS . 133.
Page 157
... Father Felician , Priest and pedagogue both in the village , had taught them their letters Out of the selfsame book , with the hymns of the church and the plain - song . But when the hymn was sung , and the daily lesson completed ...
... Father Felician , Priest and pedagogue both in the village , had taught them their letters Out of the selfsame book , with the hymns of the church and the plain - song . But when the hymn was sung , and the daily lesson completed ...
Page 167
... fathers before him Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Burgundian vineyards . Close at her father's side was the gentle Evan- geline seated , Spinning flax for the loom , that stood in the corner behind her . Silent awhile were its ...
... fathers before him Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Burgundian vineyards . Close at her father's side was the gentle Evan- geline seated , Spinning flax for the loom , that stood in the corner behind her . Silent awhile were its ...
Page 172
... fathers in forts , besieged by the enemy's cannon . Fear no evil , my friend , and to - night may no shadow of sorrow Fall on this house and hearth ; for this is the night of the contract . Built are the house and the barn . The merry ...
... fathers in forts , besieged by the enemy's cannon . Fear no evil , my friend , and to - night may no shadow of sorrow Fall on this house and hearth ; for this is the night of the contract . Built are the house and the barn . The merry ...
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Common terms and phrases
Acadian Albrecht Dürer aloft art thou Balder Basil the blacksmith Béarn beautiful behold belfry BELFRY OF BRUGES bell beneath birds blossom bosom breath bride Bruges burning Charlemagne cloud cried dark dead descended door Evangeline Evangeline's evermore eyes face fair farmer Father fire Ever higher fireside Flanders forest Gabriel Gascon gaze Ghent gleam golden Grand-Pré Guy de Dampierre hand hear heard heart heaven higher Sing JULIUS MOSEN labor land laugh light loud maiden meadows Minnesingers moon morning never Nuremberg o'er ocean odor Ozark Mountains passed prairies prayer priest rain restless restless heart river rose round sail Saint sang seemed shadows ships shore silent slowly smile song sorrow soul sound spake stars stood sunshine sweet Tharaw thee thou thought tide toil unto village voice wandered wave weary whispered wild wind words youth
Popular passages
Page 353 - THERE is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there ! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair ! The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead ; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted...
Page 78 - I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.
Page 357 - ALL are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time ; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme. Nothing useless is, or low ; Each thing in its place is best ; And what seems but idle show Strengthens and supports the rest.
Page 355 - She is not dead, — the child of our affection, — But gone unto that school Where she no longer needs our poor protection, And Christ himself doth rule. In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion, By guardian angels led, Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, She lives, whom we call dead.
Page 153 - Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the bell from its turret Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest with his hyssop Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings upon them, Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet of beads and her missal, Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of blue, and the ear-rings, Brought in the olden time from France, and since, as an heirloom, Handed down from mother to child, through long generations.
Page 79 - 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.
Page 144 - This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman?
Page 102 - I SHOT an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight. I breathed a song into the air, It fell to earth, 1 knew not where ; For who has sight so keen and strong.
Page 80 - 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 of thy voice. And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away.
Page 24 - ... rise the burnished arms; But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing Startles the villages with strange alarms. Ah! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary, When the death-angel touches those swift keys! What loud lament and dismal Miserere Will mingle with their awful symphonies! I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus, The cries of agony, the endless groan, Which, through the ages that have gone before us, In long reverberations reach our own.