Songs of Three CenturiesJohn Greenleaf Whittier |
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Page v
... stands in point of time nearer to the colossal name which closes the first period of English song , he has been chosen as a representative of the second , in connection and contrast with Burns , who , in his vigorous rebound from the ...
... stands in point of time nearer to the colossal name which closes the first period of English song , he has been chosen as a representative of the second , in connection and contrast with Burns , who , in his vigorous rebound from the ...
Page 6
... stand too much on seeming : If arts and schools reply , Give arts and schools the lie . Tell faith it's fled the city ; Tell how the country erreth ; Tell , manhood shakes off pity ; Tell , virtue least preferreth : And if they do reply ...
... stand too much on seeming : If arts and schools reply , Give arts and schools the lie . Tell faith it's fled the city ; Tell how the country erreth ; Tell , manhood shakes off pity ; Tell , virtue least preferreth : And if they do reply ...
Page 8
... stands , Hearing the holy priest that to her speaks , And blesses her with his two happy hands , How red the roses flush up in her cheeks ! And the pure snow , with goodly vermeil stain , Like crimson dyed in grain , That even the ...
... stands , Hearing the holy priest that to her speaks , And blesses her with his two happy hands , How red the roses flush up in her cheeks ! And the pure snow , with goodly vermeil stain , Like crimson dyed in grain , That even the ...
Page 14
John Greenleaf Whittier. Are only gay afflictions , golden toil ; Where greatness stands upon as feeble feet , As ... stand against the strongest head Passion can make ; inured to any hue The world can cast : it cannot cast that mind ...
John Greenleaf Whittier. Are only gay afflictions , golden toil ; Where greatness stands upon as feeble feet , As ... stand against the strongest head Passion can make ; inured to any hue The world can cast : it cannot cast that mind ...
Page 18
... standing long an oak , three hundred year , To fall a log at last , dry , bald , and sere : A lily of a day Is fairer far in May , Although it fall and die that night , - It was the plant and flower of Light . In small proportions we ...
... standing long an oak , three hundred year , To fall a log at last , dry , bald , and sere : A lily of a day Is fairer far in May , Although it fall and die that night , - It was the plant and flower of Light . In small proportions we ...
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Common terms and phrases
angels beauty BEGONE DULL CARE bells beneath bird blessed bliss bonnie Braes breast breath bright busk calm Christabel clouds dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth EDMUND SPENSER Edom eternal eyes face fair fear flowers frae Glenlogie glory golden grace grave green Grongar Hill hand hast hath hear heard heart heaven hill holy hour Hymn Inchcape Rock JOHN BYROM Kilmeny kiss lady land lassie light live Lochaber lonely look Lord maun mind morning mourn ne'er never night o'er praise rest rose round Saint Agnes SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE scorn shade shine shore sigh sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars sweet tears tell thee thine thou art thought tree unto vale voice wandering waves weary weel ween weep wild WILLIAM SHENSTONE wind wings Yarrow
Popular passages
Page 125 - But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail ; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
Page 66 - Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side; But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all: And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Page 209 - 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, Was not spoken of the soul.
Page 30 - GOING TO THE WARS Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
Page 125 - For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
Page 160 - 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 223 - 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 Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea,
Page 37 - The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
Page 97 - No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng, The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep, And all the earth is gay...
Page 223 - Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn!