The Complete Poetical Works of James Russell LowellHoughton, Mifflin, 1897 - 492 страница |
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Страница xiii
... turn his studies in dramatic and early poetic literature to account , and , after printing a portion of them in Nathan Hale's Miscellany , published , in 1844 , Conversations on some of the Old Poets . He did not keep this book alive ...
... turn his studies in dramatic and early poetic literature to account , and , after printing a portion of them in Nathan Hale's Miscellany , published , in 1844 , Conversations on some of the Old Poets . He did not keep this book alive ...
Страница 3
... Turn thy curved prow ashore , And in our green isle rest forevermore ! Forevermore ! " And Echo half wakes in the wooded hill , And , to her heart so calm and deep , Murmurs over in her sleep , Doubtfully pausing and murmuring still ...
... Turn thy curved prow ashore , And in our green isle rest forevermore ! Forevermore ! " And Echo half wakes in the wooded hill , And , to her heart so calm and deep , Murmurs over in her sleep , Doubtfully pausing and murmuring still ...
Страница 15
... turn ; A heritage , it seems to me , One scarce would wish to hold in fee . The rich man's son inherits wants , His stomach craves for dainty fare ; With sated heart , he hears the pants Of toiling hinds with brown arms bare , And ...
... turn ; A heritage , it seems to me , One scarce would wish to hold in fee . The rich man's son inherits wants , His stomach craves for dainty fare ; With sated heart , he hears the pants Of toiling hinds with brown arms bare , And ...
Страница 23
... turn Unto the love of ever - youthful Nature , And of a beauty fadeless and eterne ; And always ' t is the saddest ... turns her eyes : The next hour always shames the hour be- fore ; One beauty , at its highest , prophesies That by ...
... turn Unto the love of ever - youthful Nature , And of a beauty fadeless and eterne ; And always ' t is the saddest ... turns her eyes : The next hour always shames the hour be- fore ; One beauty , at its highest , prophesies That by ...
Страница 26
... turns to greet the growing day ! Never had poets such high call before , Never can poets hope for higher one , And , if they be but faithful to their trust , Earth will remember them with love and joy , And oh , far better , God will ...
... turns to greet the growing day ! Never had poets such high call before , Never can poets hope for higher one , And , if they be but faithful to their trust , Earth will remember them with love and joy , And oh , far better , God will ...
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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
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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.