Life of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: With Extracts from His Journals and Correspondence, 第 1 巻

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269 ページ - 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.
276 ページ - WHEN the hours of Day are numbered, And the voices of the Night Wake the better soul, that slumbered, To a holy, calm delight; Ere the evening lamps are lighted, And, like phantoms grim and tall, Shadows from the fitful fire-light Dance upon the parlor wall; Then the forms of the departed Enter at the open door; The beloved, the true-hearted, Come to visit me once more...
276 ページ - 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.
25 ページ - Where they in battle died. And the sound of that mournful song Goes through me with a thrill: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.
255 ページ - I should probably have been stimulated to greater exertions; but there has been no warmth of approbation, so that I have always written with benumbed fingers. I have another great difficulty, in the lack of materials; for I have seen so little of the world, that I have nothing but thin air to concoct my stories of, and it is not easy to give a lifelike semblance to such shadowy stuff. Sometimes, through a peep-hole, I have caught a glimpse of the real world; and the two or three articles, in which...
429 ページ - And if I laugh at any mortal thing, 'T is that I may not weep; and if I weep, ' T is that our nature cannot always bring Itself to apathy...
22 ページ - THE BATTLE OF LOVELL'S POND. Cold, cold is the north wind and rude is the blast That sweeps like a hurricane loudly and fast, As it moans through the tall waving pines lone and drear, Sighs a requiem sad o'er the warrior's bier. The war-whoop is still, and the savage's yell Has sunk into silence along the wild dell ; The din of the battle, the tumult, is o'er And the war-clarion's voice is now heard no more. The warriors that fought for their country — and bled, Have sunk to their rest ; the damp...
404 ページ - Half of my life is gone, and I have let The years slip from me and have not fulfilled The aspiration of my youth, to build Some tower of song with lofty parapet. Not indolence, nor pleasure, nor the fret Of restless passions that would not be stilled, But sorrow, and a care that almost killed, Kept me from what I may accomplish yet...
188 ページ - The birds are carolling in the trees, and their shadows flit across the window as they dart to and fro in the sunshine, while the murmur of the bee, the cooing of doves from the eaves, and the whirring of a little humming-bird that has its nest in the honey-suckle, send up a sound of joy to meet the rising sun.
118 ページ - I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Irving in Spain, and found the author, whom I had loved, repeated in the man. The same playful humor ; the same touches of sentiment ; the same poetic atmosphere ; and, what I admired still more, the entire absence of all literary jealousy, of all that mean avarice of fame, which counts what is given to another as so much taken from one's self — " And trembling, hears in every breeze, The laurels of Miltiades.

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