Authors' Birthdays: Containing Exercises for the Celebration of the Birthdays of Poe, Longfellow, T.B. Read, Irving .... First series |
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Page 6
307 . . . . . . . 312 . . . 354 Page Nov . 8 . - WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT . To a
Waterfowl . . . . . . . 305 The Death of the Flowers . . . . . . Robert of Lincoln . . . . . . .
Letter announcing his Marriage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 315 Letter on Simplicity in
Language ...
307 . . . . . . . 312 . . . 354 Page Nov . 8 . - WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT . To a
Waterfowl . . . . . . . 305 The Death of the Flowers . . . . . . Robert of Lincoln . . . . . . .
Letter announcing his Marriage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 315 Letter on Simplicity in
Language ...
Page 37
Besides the Psalm of Life , the Hymn to the Night , The Reaper and the
Flowers , and Footsteps of Angels are known wherever the English language
is spoken . New editions were soon called for , and he found himself at a leap ...
Besides the Psalm of Life , the Hymn to the Night , The Reaper and the
Flowers , and Footsteps of Angels are known wherever the English language
is spoken . New editions were soon called for , and he found himself at a leap ...
Page 51
The twilight fell softly on her placid face , and the white flowers which she held in
her little hands . In the deep silence the bird sang from the hall , a sad strain , a
melancholy requiem . It touched and soothed me . When summoned home by ...
The twilight fell softly on her placid face , and the white flowers which she held in
her little hands . In the deep silence the bird sang from the hall , a sad strain , a
melancholy requiem . It touched and soothed me . When summoned home by ...
Page 71
There was no bud , no bloom upon the bowers ; The spiders wove their thin
shrouds night by night ; The thistle - down , the only ghost of flowers , Sailed
slowly by , passed noisless out of sights . Coventry Patmore died in 1896 almost
forgotten ...
There was no bud , no bloom upon the bowers ; The spiders wove their thin
shrouds night by night ; The thistle - down , the only ghost of flowers , Sailed
slowly by , passed noisless out of sights . Coventry Patmore died in 1896 almost
forgotten ...
Page 74
And bring me only such as grew Where fairest maidens tend the bowers , And
only fed by rain and dew Which first had bathed a bank of flowers . They must
have hung on spicy trees In airs of far enchanted vales , And all night heard the ...
And bring me only such as grew Where fairest maidens tend the bowers , And
only fed by rain and dew Which first had bathed a bank of flowers . They must
have hung on spicy trees In airs of far enchanted vales , And all night heard the ...
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Authors' Birthdays: Containing Exercises for the Celebration of the ... Charles William Bardeen No preview available - 2018 |
Authors' Birthdays: Containing Exercises for the Celebration of the ... Charles William Bardeen No preview available - 2018 |
Authors' Birthdays: First Series; Containing Exercises for the Celebration ... Charles William Bardeen No preview available - 2017 |
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Popular passages
Page 293 - midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way ? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
Page 169 - My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will; The ship is...
Page 17 - Hear the loud alarum bells Brazen bells! What a tale of terror, now their turbulency tells! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright! Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire...
Page 31 - 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 302 - Soon as the little ones chip the shell, Six wide mouths are open for food; Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, Gathering seeds for the hungry brood. Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; This new life is likely to be Hard for a gay young fellow like me. Chee, chee, chee.
Page 16 - Hear the sledges with the bells, Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells.' How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars, that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight...
Page 90 - Every change of season, every change of weather, indeed every hour of the day, produces some change in the magical hues and shapes of these mountains ; and they are regarded by all the good wives, far and near, as perfect barometers. When the weather is fair and settled, they are clothed in blue and purple, and print their bold outlines on the clear evening sky ; but sometimes, when the rest of the landscape is cloudless, they will gather a hood of gray vapors about their summits, which, in the last...
Page 295 - THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead ; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread ; The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.
Page 117 - Rip Van Winkle" exclaimed two or three. "Oh, to be sure! That's Rip Van Winkle yonder, leaning against the tree." Rip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of himself as he went up the mountain; apparently as lazy, and certainly as ragged. The poor fellow was now completely confounded. He doubted his own identity, and whether he was himself or another man. In the midst of his bewilderment, the man in the cocked hat demanded who he was, and what was his name? "God knows!
Page 32 - 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. Day after day we think what she is doing In those bright realms of air ; Year after year, her tender steps pursuing, Behold her grown more fair. Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken The bond which nature gives, Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken, May reach her where she lives.