Makers of American Literature: A Class-book on American LiteratureNeale publishing Company, 1908 - 410 páginas |
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Makers of American Literature: A Class-book on American Literature Edwin Winfield Bowen Visualização integral - 1908 |
Makers of American Literature: A Class-book on American Literature Edwin Winfield Bowen Visualização integral - 1908 |
Palavras e frases frequentes
admiration Ameri American literature ANNABEL LEE appeared artistic beauty biography Bob-o'-link Bryant called character charm chee Cooper critics death distinction early Emerson England English literature essays eyes fame famous fancy father feel fiction Franklin genius Hawthorne Hawthorne's heart historian Holmes Holmes's humor imagination inspiration interest Irving Irving's James Russell Lowell lack Lanier Leaves of Grass letters literary living Longfellow Lowell Lowell's Marble Faun marshes of Glynn moral nature never Nevermore night novel o'er passed passion perhaps Pioneers Poe's poem poet poet's poetic poetry popular possessed Prescott prose published Puritan Raven reader reputation romance Scarlet Letter Sir Launfal song soul spirit story style success sure taste thee theme thou thought tion tree ture Twice-told Tales Ulalume verse volume Washington Irving Whitman Whittier word writing wrote young
Passagens conhecidas
Página 246 - To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her 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.
Página 128 - Nevermore." "Prophet!" said I. "thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or devil! Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore: Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore!
Página 244 - midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way ? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
Página 72 - Eip lay musing on this scene ; , evening was gradually advancing ; the mountains began to throw their long blue shadows over the valleys ; he saw that it would be dark long before he could reach the village, and he heaved a heavy sigh when he thought of encountering the terrors of Dame Van Winkle. As he was about to descend, he heard a voice from a distance, hallooing, " Rip Van Winkle ! Rip Van Winkle !" He looked round, but could see nothing but a crow winging its solitary flight across the mountain.
Página 70 - Times grew worse and worse with Rip Van Winkle as years of matrimony rolled on; a tart temper never mellows with age, and a sharp tongue is the only edged tool that grows keener with constant use.
Página 404 - There in the fragrant pines and the cedars dusk and dim. 1865 1865-6 o CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! O Captain ! my Captain ! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.
Página 124 - 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.
Página 120 - In the whole composition there should be no word written of which the tendency, direct or indirect, is not to the one preestablished design.
Página 131 - The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crisped and sere — The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year...
Página 213 - By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world.