The Complete Poetical Works of James Russell LowellHoughton, Mifflin, 1897 - 492 страница |
Из књиге
Резултати 1-5 од 99
Страница ix
... half - brother of the Rev. Charles Lowell was Francis Cabot Lowell , who gave a great impetus to New England manufactures , and from whom the city of Lowell took its name . Another son , and thus also an uncle of the poet , was John ...
... half - brother of the Rev. Charles Lowell was Francis Cabot Lowell , who gave a great impetus to New England manufactures , and from whom the city of Lowell took its name . Another son , and thus also an uncle of the poet , was John ...
Страница x
... half acres left with the house , the rest belonging to my brothers and sisters or their heirs . It is a square house , with four rooms on a floor , like some houses of the Georgian era I have seen in English provincial towns , only they ...
... half acres left with the house , the rest belonging to my brothers and sisters or their heirs . It is a square house , with four rooms on a floor , like some houses of the Georgian era I have seen in English provincial towns , only they ...
Страница xiv
... half make a drum of the shell , And rattle away till he ' s old as Methusalem , At the head of a march to the last new Jerusalem . This , of course , is but a half serious xiv JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
... half make a drum of the shell , And rattle away till he ' s old as Methusalem , At the head of a march to the last new Jerusalem . This , of course , is but a half serious xiv JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
Страница 2
... half - fledged words , Or hushing to a smile That more than words expressed , When his glad mother on him stole And snatched him to her breast ! Oh , thoughts were brooding in those eyes , That would have soared like strong - winged ...
... half - fledged words , Or hushing to a smile That more than words expressed , When his glad mother on him stole And snatched him to her breast ! Oh , thoughts were brooding in those eyes , That would have soared like strong - winged ...
Страница 8
... half - dazed fancy there , Can shape a giant in the air , No more I see his streaming hair , The writhing portent of his form ; - The pale and quiet moon Makes her calm forehead bare , And the last fragments of the storm , Like ...
... half - dazed fancy there , Can shape a giant in the air , No more I see his streaming hair , The writhing portent of his form ; - The pale and quiet moon Makes her calm forehead bare , And the last fragments of the storm , Like ...
Друга издања - Прикажи све
Чести термини и фразе
afore agin ain't aint airth Appledore arter ATLANTIC MONTHLY Auf wiedersehen beauty bein bobolink brain Clotho dark dear deep divine doth dream ears earth eyes faith fancy feel feet feller folks fust give God's gret hand hath hear heart heaven heerd hope idees Jaalam ketch kind larn leaves letter life's light lives look Lowell mind Muse nater nature neath never night nothin o'er ollers once poem poet poor rhyme round Sawin sech seems silent sing Sir Launfal slavery song Sonnet soul spiles spirit sunshine sure sweet tell thee there's thet thet's thine things thou thought thout thru tion tree truth turn twixt verse Vinland warn't Whig Wilbur wind wonder word wun't Yankee
Популарни одломци
Страница 69 - Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne,— Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown, Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own.
Страница 69 - Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side; Some great cause, God's new Messiah, offering each the bloom or blight, Parts the goats upon the left hand, and the sheep upon the right.1 And the choice goes by forever 'twixt that darkness and that light.
Страница xvi - There is Lowell, who's striving Parnassus to climb With a whole bale of isms tied together with rhyme, He might get on alone, spite of brambles and boulders, But he can't with that bundle he has on his shoulders, The top of the hill he will ne'er come nigh reaching Till he learns the distinction 'twixt singing and preaching...
Страница 302 - I could not sleep for the cold, I had fire enough in my brain, And builded, with roofs of gold. My beautiful castles in Spain! Since then I have toiled day and night, I have money and power good store, But I'd give all my lamps of silver bright For the one that is mine no more.
Страница 108 - OVER his keys the musing organist, Beginning doubtfully and far away, First lets his fingers wander as they list, And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his lay: Then, as the touch of his loved instrument « Gives hope and fervor, nearer draws his theme, First guessed by faint auroral flushes sent Along the wavering vista of his dream.
Страница 144 - Mix well, and while stirring, hum o'er, as a spell, The fine old English Gentleman, simmer it well, Sweeten just to your own private liking, then strain, That only the finest and clearest remain, Let it stand out of doors till a soul it receives From the warm lazy sun loitering down through green leaves, And you'll find a choice nature, not wholly deserving A name either English or Yankee, — just Irving.
Страница 46 - They knew not how he learned at all, For idly, hour by hour, He sat and watched the dead leaves fall, Or mused upon a common flower.
Страница 113 - The Holy Supper is kept, indeed, In whatso we share with another's need; Not what we give, but what we share, ! For the gift without the giver is bare; Who gives himself with his alms feeds three, Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me.
Страница 111 - Like herds of startled deer. But the wind without was eager and sharp, Of Sir Launfal's gray hair it makes a harp, And rattles and wrings The icy strings, Singing, in dreary monotone, A Christmas carol of its own, Whose burden still, as he might guess, Was " Shelterless, shelterless, shelterless...
Страница 111 - With lightsome green of ivy and holly; Through the deep gulf of the chimney wide Wallows the Yule-log's roaring tide; The broad flame-pennons droop and flap And belly and tug as a flag in the wind; Like a locust shrills the imprisoned sap, Hunted to death in its galleries blind; And swift little troops of silent sparks, Now pausing, now scattering away as in fear, Go threading the soot-forest's tangled darks Like herds of startled deer.