The Poetical Works of Henry W. LongfellowWard, Lock, 1886 - 698 pages |
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Page xvi
... heart ? Hiawatha has a different claim . It is a work sui generis , and alone ; moreover , manly , interesting , and a choice and difficult piece of execution , without strain or parade . The native American legends and aboriginal tone ...
... heart ? Hiawatha has a different claim . It is a work sui generis , and alone ; moreover , manly , interesting , and a choice and difficult piece of execution , without strain or parade . The native American legends and aboriginal tone ...
Page 10
... heart is full ; so full That I must speak . Hyp . Alas ! that heart of thine Is like a scene in the old play , the curtain Rises to solemn music , and lo ! enter The eleven thousand virgins of Cologne ! Vict . Nay , like the Sibyl's ...
... heart is full ; so full That I must speak . Hyp . Alas ! that heart of thine Is like a scene in the old play , the curtain Rises to solemn music , and lo ! enter The eleven thousand virgins of Cologne ! Vict . Nay , like the Sibyl's ...
Page 20
... heart ; And , like a lily on a river floating , She floats upon the river of his thoughts ! * Don C. A common thing with poets . But who is This floating lily ? For , in fine , some woman , Some living woman , -not a mere ideal ...
... heart ; And , like a lily on a river floating , She floats upon the river of his thoughts ! * Don C. A common thing with poets . But who is This floating lily ? For , in fine , some woman , Some living woman , -not a mere ideal ...
Page 22
... heart ! Thou , thou only sleepless art ! All this throbbing , all this aching , Evermore shall keep thee waking , For a heart in sorrow breaking Thinketh ever of its smart ! t Thou speakest truly , poet ! and methinks More hearts are ...
... heart ! Thou , thou only sleepless art ! All this throbbing , all this aching , Evermore shall keep thee waking , For a heart in sorrow breaking Thinketh ever of its smart ! t Thou speakest truly , poet ! and methinks More hearts are ...
Page 24
... heart now prompts me . I no more Will hate you , for all hate is painful to me . But if , without offending modesty And that reserve which is a woman's glory , I may speak freely , I will teach my heart Lara . O sweet angel ! Prx . Ay ...
... heart now prompts me . I no more Will hate you , for all hate is painful to me . But if , without offending modesty And that reserve which is a woman's glory , I may speak freely , I will teach my heart Lara . O sweet angel ! Prx . Ay ...
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Common terms and phrases
Angel answered arms arrows beautiful beneath birds breath bright close comes cried dark dead death deep door dream earth ended eyes face fair fall father fear feet fell fire flowers follow forest give gleam golden grave guests hand head hear heard heart heaven Hiawatha Italy King King Olaf land Laughing leaves light listen living look Lord loud maiden morning never night o'er once passed Pau-Puk-Keewis prayer Prince Henry rest ring rise river rose round rushing sails sang seemed shadows shining ships silent singing sleep smile song soul sound spake speak spirit stand stars stood strong sweet sword Take thee things thou thought Till turned Vict village voice wait wall waves wigwam wild wind wonder woods young youth
Popular passages
Page 482 - BETWEEN the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, That is known as the Children's Hour. I hear in the chamber above me The patter of little feet, The sound of a door that is opened, And voices soft and sweet. From my study I see in the lamplight, Descending the broad hall stair, Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, And Edith with golden hair.
Page 425 - 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 369 - And with them the Being Beauteous, Who unto my youth was given, More than all things else to love me, And is now a saint in heaven. With a slow and noiseless footstep Comes that messenger divine, Takes the vacant chair beside me, Lays her gentle hand in mine. And she sits and gazes at me With those deep and tender eyes, Like the stars, so still and saint-like, Looking downward from the skies.
Page 414 - We will be patient, and assuage the feeling We may not wholly stay ; By silence sanctifying, not concealing, The grief that must have way.
Page 425 - 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 370 - SPAKE full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, "When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. Stars they are, wherein we read our history, As astrologers and seers of eld ; Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery, Like the burning stars, which they beheld.
Page 398 - All are scattered, now, and fled, — Some are married, some are dead; And when I ask, with throbs of pain, "Ah! when shall they all meet again?
Page 396 - I SHOT an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where ; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight. I breathed a song into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where ; For who has sight so keen and strong, That it can follow the flight of song ? Long, long afterward, in an oak I found the arrow, still unbroke ; And the song, from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend.
Page 432 - This was the peasant's last Good-night, A voice replied, far up the height, Excelsior ! At break of day, as heavenward The pious monks of Saint Bernard Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, A voice cried through the startled air Excelsior ! A traveller, by the faithful hound, Half-buried in the snow was found, Still grasping in his hand of ice That banner with the strange device Excelsior ! There in the twilight cold and gray, Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, And from the sky, serene and far, A voice...
Page 432 - MAIDEN ! with the meek, brown eyes, In whose orbs a shadow lies Like the dusk in evening skies ! Thou whose locks outshine the sun, Golden tresses, wreathed in one, As the braided streamlets run ! Standing, with reluctant feet, Where the brook and river meet, Womanhood and childhood fleet ! Gazing, with a timid glance, On the brooklet's swift advance, On the river's broad expanse ! Deep and still, that gliding stream Beautiful to thee must seem, As the river of a dream.