The Living Authors of America: 1st ser |
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Results 6-10 of 55
Page 80
... soul , That is the standard of the man . " It is not his popularity by which we must measure the author , but the intellect he puts forth . This is a perpetual landmark not washed away by every strong tide of opinion , always ebbing and ...
... soul , That is the standard of the man . " It is not his popularity by which we must measure the author , but the intellect he puts forth . This is a perpetual landmark not washed away by every strong tide of opinion , always ebbing and ...
Page 81
... soul of sacred poetry , simplicity and earnestness . They are too elegant to be sublime , and breathe more of the perfumer's shop than the fragrant incense of the altar . A few quotations will illustrate our meaning , and we hope ...
... soul of sacred poetry , simplicity and earnestness . They are too elegant to be sublime , and breathe more of the perfumer's shop than the fragrant incense of the altar . A few quotations will illustrate our meaning , and we hope ...
Page 121
... soul of magic power ; it is really not too much to say that a fine algebraist might get a tolerably correct idea of some of the most charac- teristic of Mr. Poe's verses by an architectural skeleton or design of his poems . The physique ...
... soul of magic power ; it is really not too much to say that a fine algebraist might get a tolerably correct idea of some of the most charac- teristic of Mr. Poe's verses by an architectural skeleton or design of his poems . The physique ...
Page 122
... soul ; and the tongues whom envy or shame froze in the life of her gifted but unhappy son - in - law , will thaw , and like the fable of old utter praises to the perished one , condemning their own wretched selves . Oh ! that a hand ...
... soul ; and the tongues whom envy or shame froze in the life of her gifted but unhappy son - in - law , will thaw , and like the fable of old utter praises to the perished one , condemning their own wretched selves . Oh ! that a hand ...
Page 125
... soul - somewhat , perhaps , too artificially forced upon the attention , is well developed in the little poem of Annabel Lee . It is evidently an echo of Christabel , " but it is a very beautiful one , and charms the ear , if it does ...
... soul - somewhat , perhaps , too artificially forced upon the attention , is well developed in the little poem of Annabel Lee . It is evidently an echo of Christabel , " but it is a very beautiful one , and charms the ear , if it does ...
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Common terms and phrases
Acadian admiration Æschylus Alnwick Castle American Annabel Lee beauty beneath breath Bryant Byron Cachuca Carmelite character charm Coleridge consider Cooper critic Dana dark death dramatist dream earth elaborate elegant Emerson England English evidence expression fact feel force genius George Sand give gondola grave Halleck hand hath heard heart heaven HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW human HYPOLITO intellect JARED SPARKS Kirkland lady land Leigh Hunt light lines living Longfellow look Margaret Fuller mind Miss Fuller monomania nation Natty Bumppo nature never o'er once opinion passion peculiar poem poet poet's poetical poetry Prescott present prose quote Ralph Waldo Emerson reader remarks romance scene seems Shakspeare singular smile soul sound spirit stanza style sure sweet thee things thou thought throw tion true truth verse voice Willis woman word Wordsworth writings
Popular passages
Page 163 - are beating Funeral marches to the grave. ***** " Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time! " Footprints! that perhaps another, Sailing o'er Life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing shall take heart again!
Page 128 - 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 197 - visible forms, she speaks A various language; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware.
Page 357 - His soul was like a star, and dwelt apart! He had a voice whose sound was like the sea, Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free ; So did he travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness, and yet his heart The lowliest duties on itself did lay
Page 220 - eye serene The very pulse of the machine; A being breathing thoughtful breath, A traveller between life and death; The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command: And yet a spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light.
Page 230 - His few surviving comrades saw His smile when rang their proud hurrah, And the red field was won: Then saw in death his eyelids close, Calmly, as to a night's repose, Like flowers at set of sun. Bozzaris! with the storied brave, Greece mustered in her glory's time, Rest thee; there is no prouder grave,
Page 164 - There is a reaper whose name is Death, And with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded gram at a breath, And the flowers that grow between. * * * * " He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves, It was for the Lord of Paradise' He bound them in his sheaves.
Page 156 - Of visitation from the living God, Thought was not, in enjoyment it expired; No thanks he breathed, he proffered no request. Rapt into still communion that transcends The imperfect offices of prayer and praise, His mind was a thanksgiving to the power That made him—it was blessedness and love.
Page 130 - Not the least obeisance made he; Not an instant stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, Perched above my chamber door— Perched upon a bust of Pallas Just above my chamber door— Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Page 160 - Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought, Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought.