The poetical works of Henry W. Longfellow, ed. with a critical memoir by W.M. Rossetti, illustr. by W. Lawson, Issue 151 |
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Page viii
... 493 494 495 The Children's Hour . Enceladus The Cumberland Snow - flakes A Day of Sunshine Something left Undone Weariness 496 497 498 499 499 500 500 FLOWER - DE LUCE- PAGE Beautiful Lily . Palingenesis 502 viii CONTENTS .
... 493 494 495 The Children's Hour . Enceladus The Cumberland Snow - flakes A Day of Sunshine Something left Undone Weariness 496 497 498 499 499 500 500 FLOWER - DE LUCE- PAGE Beautiful Lily . Palingenesis 502 viii CONTENTS .
Page ix
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow William Michael Rossetti. FLOWER - DE LUCE- PAGE Beautiful Lily . Palingenesis 502 The Bridge of Cloud 503 Hawthorne 504 Christmas Bells 505 Kambalu 506 The Bells of Lynn The Wind over the Chimney 506 508 ...
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow William Michael Rossetti. FLOWER - DE LUCE- PAGE Beautiful Lily . Palingenesis 502 The Bridge of Cloud 503 Hawthorne 504 Christmas Bells 505 Kambalu 506 The Bells of Lynn The Wind over the Chimney 506 508 ...
Page 2
... beautiful . Don C. Almost beyond the privilege of woman ! I saw her in the Prada yesterday . Her step was royal , -queen - like , and As beautiful as a saint's in Paradise . her face Lara . May not a saint fall from her Paradise , And ...
... beautiful . Don C. Almost beyond the privilege of woman ! I saw her in the Prada yesterday . Her step was royal , -queen - like , and As beautiful as a saint's in Paradise . her face Lara . May not a saint fall from her Paradise , And ...
Page 6
... beautiful , but takes Something from thee , that makes it beautiful . Prec . And yet thou leavest me for those dusty books . Vict . Thou comest between me and those books too often ! I see thy face in everything I see ! The paintings in ...
... beautiful , but takes Something from thee , that makes it beautiful . Prec . And yet thou leavest me for those dusty books . Vict . Thou comest between me and those books too often ! I see thy face in everything I see ! The paintings in ...
Page 39
... beautiful girl , Called Preciosa ? Padre C. Ay , a pretty girl . The gentleman seems moved . Hyp . Yes , moved with hunger , He is half - famished with this long day's journey . Padre C. Then , pray you , come this way . The supper ...
... beautiful girl , Called Preciosa ? Padre C. Ay , a pretty girl . The gentleman seems moved . Hyp . Yes , moved with hunger , He is half - famished with this long day's journey . Padre C. Then , pray you , come this way . The supper ...
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The Poetical Works of Henry W. Longfellow, Ed. with a Critical Memoir by W.M ... Henry Wadsworth Longfellow No preview available - 2015 |
Common terms and phrases
Alden Angel answered arrows beautiful behold beneath birds breath bright Chibiabos clouds cried Dacotahs dance dark dead death doorway dreams earth Edenhall Elsie eyes face father Filled fire flowers forest Friar gazed Gitche Gumee gleam golden grave guests hand hear heard heart heaven Hiawatha holy John Alden Kenabeek King Olaf Kwasind land Lara Laughing Water leaves light listen look Lord loud Lucifer maiden meadow Miles Standish Minnehaha Mondamin moon morning Mudjekeewis night o'er old Nokomis Osseo pass Pau-Puk-Keewis Plymouth Pray prayer Prec Prince Henry Priscilla river rose round rushing sail sang shadow shining shouted Sigrid the Haughty silent singing sleep smile song Song of Hiawatha sorrow soul sound spake speak stars stood strong sunshine sweet sword thee thought unto Vict village voice wampum Wenonah whispered wigwam wild wind wonder words youth
Popular passages
Page 427 - His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.
Page 367 - TELL me not, in mournful numbers, " Life is but an empty dream! " For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real ! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal ; "Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Page 412 - 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 thee.
Page 298 - It was two by the village clock, When he came to the bridge in Concord town. He heard the bleating of the flock, And the twitter of birds among the trees, And felt the breath of the morning breeze Blowing over the meadows brown. And one was safe and asleep in his bed Who at the bridge would be first to fall, Who that day would be lying dead, Pierced by a British musket-ball. You know the rest. In the books you have read, How the British Regulars fired and fled, How the farmers gave them ball...
Page 361 - And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach, The woods were bending with a silent reach. Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell, The music of the village bell Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills ; And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills, Was ringing to the merry shout, That faint and far the glen sent out, Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke, Through thick-leaved branches, from the dingle broke. If thou art worn and hard beset With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget, If thou...
Page 427 - He goes on Sunday to the church, And sits among his boys ; He hears the parson pray and preach, He hears his daughter's voice, Singing in the village choir, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise ! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies ; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes.
Page 428 - How in the grave she lies ; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, Onward through life he goes ; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close ; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught ) Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought ; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought.
Page 502 - Oft have I seen at some cathedral door A laborer, pausing in the dust and heat, Lay down his burden, and with reverent feet Enter, and cross himself, and on the floor Kneel to repeat his paternoster o'er; Far off the noises of the world retreat; The loud vociferations of the street Become an undistinguishable roar. So, as I enter here from day to day, And leave my burden at this minster gate, Kneeling in prayer, and not ashamed to pray, The tumult of the time disconsolate To inarticulate murmurs...
Page 550 - RETRIBUTION. THOUGH the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small ; Though with patience he stands waiting, with exactness grinds he all.
Page 438 - Were half the power, that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth, bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals nor forts: The warrior's name would be a name abhorred!