Tales of a Wayside InnTicknor and Fields, 1864 - 225 pages |
From inside the book
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Page 1
... leaves Of woodbine , hanging from the eaves Their crimson curtains rent and thin . As ancient is this hostelry As any in the land may be , Built in the old Colonial day , When men lived in a grander way , With ampler hospitality ; A ...
... leaves Of woodbine , hanging from the eaves Their crimson curtains rent and thin . As ancient is this hostelry As any in the land may be , Built in the old Colonial day , When men lived in a grander way , With ampler hospitality ; A ...
Page 3
... leaves , and dust , A moment quickened by its breath , Shuddered and danced their dance of death , And through the ancient oaks o'erhead Mysterious voices moaned and fled . But from the parlor of the inn A pleasant murmur smote the ear ...
... leaves , and dust , A moment quickened by its breath , Shuddered and danced their dance of death , And through the ancient oaks o'erhead Mysterious voices moaned and fled . But from the parlor of the inn A pleasant murmur smote the ear ...
Page 28
... , By Fiametta , laurel - crowned , While her companions lay around , And heard the intermingled sound f airs that on their errands sped , And wild birds gossiping overhead , And lisp of leaves 28 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN .
... , By Fiametta , laurel - crowned , While her companions lay around , And heard the intermingled sound f airs that on their errands sped , And wild birds gossiping overhead , And lisp of leaves 28 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN .
Page 29
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. And wild birds gossiping overhead , And lisp of leaves , and fountain's fall , And her own voice more sweet than all , Telling the tale , which , wanting these , Perchance may lose its power to please . " THE ...
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. And wild birds gossiping overhead , And lisp of leaves , and fountain's fall , And her own voice more sweet than all , Telling the tale , which , wanting these , Perchance may lose its power to please . " THE ...
Page 30
... leaves Of a huge vine , that , with its arms outspread , Hung its delicious clusters overhead . Below him , through the lovely valley , flowed The river Arno , like a winding road , And from its banks were lifted high in air The spires ...
... leaves Of a huge vine , that , with its arms outspread , Hung its delicious clusters overhead . Below him , through the lovely valley , flowed The river Arno , like a winding road , And from its banks were lifted high in air The spires ...
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Common terms and phrases
Angel answered arms arrow beard beneath birds Bishop breath chamber Church cried cross dark dead Dead rides Sir death deep divine door dream Earl earth ended eyes face fair falcon fear fields fire fled gazed Give gleamed gold guest Hakon hand head hear heard heart hour Italy King Olaf land laughed leaves lifting light listened live look Lord loud morning Morten of Fogelsang never night o'er Olaf's once passed pause played prayer Queen replied rides rides Sir Morten ring Robert rose round rush sails Scald seemed ship shore silence Sing smiled song sound stand stood street strong sweet sword tale Thangbrand thee things thou thought Three Till told town turned voice walked wall watched wide wild wind wood
Popular passages
Page 21 - Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. Now he patted his horse's side...
Page 23 - 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! For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, Through all our history, to the last, In the hour of darkness and peril and need, The people will waken and listen to hear The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, And the midnight message of Paul Revere.
Page 22 - A hurry of hoofs in a village street, A shape in the moonlight; a bulk in the dark, And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet: That was all! and yet, through the gloom and the light, The fate of a nation was riding that night; And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
Page 23 - 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 212 - SNOW-FLAKES. 00T of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent, and soft, and slow Descends the snow. Even as our cloudy fancies take Suddenly shape in some divine expression, Even as the troubled heart doth make In the white countenance confession, The troubled sky reveals The grief it feels.
Page 23 - It was twelve by the village clock When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. He heard the crowing of the cock, And the barking of the farmer's dog, And felt the damp of the river fog, That rises after the sun goes down.
Page 23 - That rises after the sun goes down. It was one by the village clock, When he galloped into Lexington. He saw the gilded weathercock Swim in the moonlight as he passed, And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, Gaze at him with a spectral glare, As if they already stood aghast At the bloody work they would look upon. It was two by the village clock, When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
Page 23 - You know the rest. In the books you have read, How the British regulars fired and fled, How the farmers gave them ball for ball, From behind each fence and farm-yard wall, Chasing the red-coats down the lane, Then crossing the fields to emerge again Under the trees at the turn of the road, And only pausing to fire and load.
Page 19 - Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, Just as the moon rose over the bay, Where swinging wide at her moorings lay The Somerset, British man-of-war; A phantom ship, with each mast and spar Across the moon like a prison bar, And a huge black hulk, that was magnified By its own reflection in the tide.
Page 189 - Linnet and meadow-lark and all the throng That dwell in nests and have the gift of song. You slay them all! and wherefore? for the gain Of a scant handful, more or less, of wheat Or rye or barley or some other grain, Scratched up at random by industrious feet. Searching for worm or weevil after rain! Or a few cherries that are not so sweet As are the songs these uninvited guests Sing at their feast with comfortable breasts.