The poetical works of H.W. Longfellow |
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Page 17
... Death to these foreign soldiers , who seize on our homes and our har- vests ! " More he fain would have said , but the merciless hand of a soldier Smote him upon the mouth , and dragged him down to the pavement . In the midst of the ...
... Death to these foreign soldiers , who seize on our homes and our har- vests ! " More he fain would have said , but the merciless hand of a soldier Smote him upon the mouth , and dragged him down to the pavement . In the midst of the ...
Page 35
... death flooded life , and , o'erflowing its natural margin , Spread to a brackish lake , the silver stream of existence . Wealth had no power to bribe , nor beauty to charm , the oppressor ; But all perished alike beneath the scourge of ...
... death flooded life , and , o'erflowing its natural margin , Spread to a brackish lake , the silver stream of existence . Wealth had no power to bribe , nor beauty to charm , the oppressor ; But all perished alike beneath the scourge of ...
Page 36
... Death might see the sign , and pass over . Motionless , senseless , dying , he lay , and his spirit exhausted Seemed to be sinking down through infinite depths in the darkness , Darkness of slumber and death , for ever sinking and ...
... Death might see the sign , and pass over . Motionless , senseless , dying , he lay , and his spirit exhausted Seemed to be sinking down through infinite depths in the darkness , Darkness of slumber and death , for ever sinking and ...
Page 42
... 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 ...
... 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 ...
Page 47
... is pale and bleared ! Death , with frosty hand and cold , Plucks the old man by the beard , Sorely , sorely ! The leaves are falling , falling , Solemnly and slow MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING YEAR . 47 Midnight Mass for the Dying Year.
... is pale and bleared ! Death , with frosty hand and cold , Plucks the old man by the beard , Sorely , sorely ! The leaves are falling , falling , Solemnly and slow MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING YEAR . 47 Midnight Mass for the Dying Year.
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Common terms and phrases
angel answer arms beautiful behold beneath birds breath bright child CHISPA clouds comes Count dance dark dead Death deep dream earth Enter eyes face fair faith fall father fear feel feet fire flowers follow Gipsy give gleam gold golden grave hand hast head hear heard heart heaven holy hope hour HYPOLITO land LARA leaves light lips living look maiden morning never night o'er once PADRE pass play poor Pray prayer PRECIOSA rest ring rise river round sail Saint sang SCENE seemed shadows ships side silent singing sleep soft song soul sound speak spirit stands stars stood strong sweet tears tell thee things thou thou art thought unto VICTORIAN village voice wait walls waters wave wild wind window young youth
Popular passages
Page 64 - There is no Death ! What seems so is transition. This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death.
Page 115 - 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 ! His brow was sad ; his eye beneath Flashed like a falchion from its sheath, And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, Excelsior...
Page 83 - The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an Eagle in his flight. 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 7 - THIS is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Page 99 - Like the horns of an angry bull. Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, With the masts went by the board; Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, Ho! ho! the breakers roared! At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, A fisherman stood aghast, To see the form of a maiden fair, Lashed close to a drifting mast. The salt sea was frozen on her breast, The salt tears in her eyes; And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, On the billows fall and rise. Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight...
Page 57 - Tis of the wave and not the rock ; 'Tis but the flapping of the sail, And not a rent made by the gale ! In spite of rock and tempest's roar, In spite of false lights on the shore. Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! Our hearts, our hopes, are all with th.ee.
Page 57 - Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State! Sail on, O UNION, strong and great! Humanity with all its fears, With all the hopes of future years, Is hanging breathless on thy fate...
Page 42 - WHEN the hours of Day are numbered, And the voices of the Night Wake the better soul, that slumbered, To a holy, calm delight; Ere the evening lamps are lighted, And, like phantoms grim and tall, Shadows from the fitful fire-light Dance upon the parlor wall; Then the forms of the departed Enter at the open door; The beloved, the true-hearted, Come to visit me once more...
Page 97 - Colder and louder blew the wind, A gale from the Northeast; The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows frothed like yeast. Down came the storm, and smote amain, The vessel in its strength; She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, Then leaped her cable's length. "Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, And do not tremble so; For I can weather the roughest gale, That ever wind did blow.
Page 94 - Oft to his frozen lair Tracked I the grisly bear, While from my path the hare Fled like a shadow; Oft through the forest dark Followed the were-wolf's bark, Until the soaring lark Sang from the meadow. "But when I older grew, Joining a corsair's crew, O'er the dark sea I flew With the marauders. Wild was the life we led, Many the souls that sped, Many the hearts that bled, By our stern orders.