A Manual of American Literature: Designed for the Use of Schools of Advanced Grades |
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Page 31
... of tea - and - toast within , and those flowers of frost fading on the windows without , as though old Winter just looked in , but his cold breath was melted , and so he passed by . . . The humor and the poetry of the book do not.
... of tea - and - toast within , and those flowers of frost fading on the windows without , as though old Winter just looked in , but his cold breath was melted , and so he passed by . . . The humor and the poetry of the book do not.
Page 38
... breath of the summer sun breathes upon it , melts and divides into drops , each of which reflects an image of the sun , so life , in the smile of God's love , divides itself into separate forms , each bearing in it and reflecting an ...
... breath of the summer sun breathes upon it , melts and divides into drops , each of which reflects an image of the sun , so life , in the smile of God's love , divides itself into separate forms , each bearing in it and reflecting an ...
Page 43
... breath as the breath of kine that feed in the meadows . When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at noontide Flagons of home - brewed ale , ah ! fair in sooth was the maiden . Fairer was she when , on Sunday morn , while the ...
... breath as the breath of kine that feed in the meadows . When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at noontide Flagons of home - brewed ale , ah ! fair in sooth was the maiden . Fairer was she when , on Sunday morn , while the ...
Page 53
... breath , From each open port . We are not idle , but send her straight Defiance back in a full broadside ! As hail rebounds from a roof of slate , Rebounds our heavier hail From each iron scale Of the monster's hide . " Strike your flag ...
... breath , From each open port . We are not idle , but send her straight Defiance back in a full broadside ! As hail rebounds from a roof of slate , Rebounds our heavier hail From each iron scale Of the monster's hide . " Strike your flag ...
Page 55
... breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian , Whose portal we call Death . She is not dead , -the child of our affection , - But gone unto that school Where she no longer needs our poor protection , And Christ himself doth rule . In that ...
... breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian , Whose portal we call Death . She is not dead , -the child of our affection , - But gone unto that school Where she no longer needs our poor protection , And Christ himself doth rule . In that ...
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Common terms and phrases
Alice Cary American Literature arms Atlantic Monthly Barnstable battle beauty behold beneath bird breath bright brow character child Clovernook cried Cyclopædia of American dark dead Donatello door Duyckinck's Cyclopædia earth enemy English eyes fair father feeling fire flowers forest gaze genius Goody Cole grace gray H. T. Tuckerman Hampton River hand head heart heaven hills human humor Irving laugh liberty light literary Little Jerry living look maiden MANUAL OF AMERICAN ment mind Miss Ophelia morning nature never Nevermore night noble North American Review o'er Phaëthon poems poetic poetry poets Prescott published Quoth the Raven Rip Van Winkle rose round scene seemed silent smile snow song soul spirit stars stood style sweet thee thou thought tion trees voice volume W. D. Howells wild wind wood words writings young
Popular passages
Page 147 - ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore — While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. '"Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door — Only this and nothing more.
Page 99 - So all night long the storm roared on : The morning broke without a sun ; In tiny spherule traced with lines Of Nature's geometric signs, In starry flake, and pellicle, All day the hoary meteor fell ; And, when the second morning shone, We looked upon a world unknown, On nothing we could call our own. Around the glistening wonder bent The blue walls of the firmament, No cloud above, no earth below, — A universe of sky and snow...
Page 257 - The very character of the people seemed changed. There was a busy, bustling, disputatious tone about it, instead of the accustomed phlegm and drowsy tranquillity. He looked in vain for the sage Nicholas Vedder, with his broad face, double chin, and fair long pipe, uttering clouds of tobacco smoke instead of idle speeches; or Van Bummel, the schoolmaster, doling forth the contents of an ancient newspaper.
Page 39 - 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.
Page 149 - And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted— nevermore!
Page 255 - The very village was altered; it was larger and more populous. There were rows of houses which he had never seen before, and those which had been his familiar haunts had disappeared. Strange names were over the doors, strange faces at the windows — everything was strange.
Page 55 - THERE is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair!
Page 256 - He recognized on the sign, however, the ruby face of King George, under which he had smoked so many a peaceful pipe; but even this was singularly metamorphosed. The red coat was changed for one of blue and buff, a sword was held in the hand instead of a sceptre, the head was decorated with a cocked hat, and underneath was painted in large characters, GENERAL WASHINGTON.
Page 43 - Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen summers. Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the thorn by the wayside, Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown shade of her tresses! Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that feed in the meadows.
Page 153 - That close the pestilence are broke, And crowded cities wail its stroke; Come in consumption's ghastly form, The earthquake shock, the ocean storm; Come when the heart beats high and warm With banquet song, and dance, and wine: And thou art terrible — the tear. The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, And all we know, or dream, or fear Of asronv are thine.