English & American Literature, Studies in Literary Criticism, Interpretation & History, Including Complete Masterpieces, in 10 Vol, Volume 4Smith & Reeve, 1903 |
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Page 23
... look at thy spelling book ; Dilworth and Dyche are both mad at thy quanti- ties- Dactylics , call'st thou ' em ? silly one ! " " God help thee , Amphibrach , middle syllable accented , ~~ ; O hush , thee , my babie , thy sire was a ...
... look at thy spelling book ; Dilworth and Dyche are both mad at thy quanti- ties- Dactylics , call'st thou ' em ? silly one ! " " God help thee , Amphibrach , middle syllable accented , ~~ ; O hush , thee , my babie , thy sire was a ...
Page 30
... look at the flowers themselves and to consider how they grow . " Professor Shairp writes : " Whenever the soul comes vividly in contact with any fact , truth , or existence , which it realizes and takes home to itself with more than ...
... look at the flowers themselves and to consider how they grow . " Professor Shairp writes : " Whenever the soul comes vividly in contact with any fact , truth , or existence , which it realizes and takes home to itself with more than ...
Page 48
... Look where we may , the wide earth o'er , Those lighted faces smile no more . We tread the path their feet have worn , We sit beneath their orchard trees , We hear , like them , the hum of bees And rustle of the bladed corn ; We turn ...
... Look where we may , the wide earth o'er , Those lighted faces smile no more . We tread the path their feet have worn , We sit beneath their orchard trees , We hear , like them , the hum of bees And rustle of the bladed corn ; We turn ...
Page 49
... looks to see the breaking day Across the mournful marbles play ! Who hath not learned , in hours of faith , The truth to flesh and sense unknown , That Life is ever lord of Death , And Love can never lose its own ! In The Princess ...
... looks to see the breaking day Across the mournful marbles play ! Who hath not learned , in hours of faith , The truth to flesh and sense unknown , That Life is ever lord of Death , And Love can never lose its own ! In The Princess ...
Page 58
... looks down , Beware ! Beware ! Trust her not , She is fooling thee ! And she has hair of a golden hue , Take care ! And what she says , it is not true , Beware ! Beware ! Trust her not , She is fooling thee ! She has a bosom as white as ...
... looks down , Beware ! Beware ! Trust her not , She is fooling thee ! And she has hair of a golden hue , Take care ! And what she says , it is not true , Beware ! Beware ! Trust her not , She is fooling thee ! She has a bosom as white as ...
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Common terms and phrases
accented admiration Allen-a-Dale anapestic angel Annabel Lee auld lang syne beauty bird blow Bob-o'-link breathe bright cæsura Chambered Nautilus charm chee cloud dark Death of Wellington deep doth dream earth Edgar Allan Poe emotion eyes fate Fausta feel feet flowers foot glory golden happy hath hear heart heaven HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW hill honor hymns iambic iambic pentameter inspiration JOHN DRYDEN JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER L'Allegro language light live Longfellow look Lord lyric melody meter moon never night o'er pain poem poet poetry prose purple quiet rhyme ROBERT BURNS Robert of Lincoln shade sing smile song sorrow soul sound Spink spirit stanza stars stream sung sweet syllable tears Tennyson thee thine things thou art thought verse voice wandering weary weep WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT WILLIAM WORDSWORTH wind wings woods words
Popular passages
Page 63 - TO HELEN. Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome.
Page 94 - Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire ; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. In the golden lightning « Of the sunken sun, O'er which clouds are bright'ning, Thou dost float and run ; Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.
Page 177 - Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new. Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.
Page 128 - WHITHER, 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 62 - A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food, For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
Page 97 - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain ? What fields, or waves, or mountains ? What shapes of sky or plain ? What love of thine own kind ? what ignorance of pain ? ©de to a With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be: Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee : Thou lovest; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.
Page 69 - I forget the hallowed grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met, To live one day of parting love ! Eternity will not efface Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embrace; Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last! Ayr gurgling kissed his pebbled shore, O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning, green ; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, Twin'd amorous round the raptured scene.
Page 26 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread — Stitch — stitch — stitch ! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, — Would that its tone could reach the Rich ! She sang this " Song of the Shirt !
Page 52 - Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea ! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me ; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.
Page 179 - Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides. Will no one tell me what she sings? — Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again?