American Classics for Seventh and Eighth Grade Reading: With Biographical Sketches, Portraits and Suggestions for StudyHoughton Mifflin, 1905 - 437 من الصفحات |
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الصفحة 20
... stream was now foaming down it , leaping from rock to rock , and filling the glen with babbling murmurs . He , however , made shift to scramble up its sides , working his toilsome way through thickets of birch , sassafras , and witch ...
... stream was now foaming down it , leaping from rock to rock , and filling the glen with babbling murmurs . He , however , made shift to scramble up its sides , working his toilsome way through thickets of birch , sassafras , and witch ...
الصفحة 31
... stream gushed forth , which washed him away and swept him down precipices , where he was dashed to pieces , and the stream made its way to the Hudson , and continues to flow to the present day ; being the identical stream known by the ...
... stream gushed forth , which washed him away and swept him down precipices , where he was dashed to pieces , and the stream made its way to the Hudson , and continues to flow to the present day ; being the identical stream known by the ...
الصفحة 36
... stream , where we may see the straw and bubble riding quietly at anchor , or slowly revolving in their mimic harbor , undisturbed by the rush of the passing current . Though many years have elapsed since I trod the drowsy shades of ...
... stream , where we may see the straw and bubble riding quietly at anchor , or slowly revolving in their mimic harbor , undisturbed by the rush of the passing current . Though many years have elapsed since I trod the drowsy shades of ...
الصفحة 41
... stream and awful woodland , to the farmhouse where he happened to be quartered , every sound of nature , at that witching hour , fluttered his excited imagination , —the moan of the whip - poor - will from the hillside , the boding cry ...
... stream and awful woodland , to the farmhouse where he happened to be quartered , every sound of nature , at that witching hour , fluttered his excited imagination , —the moan of the whip - poor - will from the hillside , the boding cry ...
الصفحة 42
... and ghastly glare of a snowy night ! With what wistful look did he eye every trembling ray of light streaming across the 1 From Milton's L'Allegro . waste fields from some distant window ! How often was 42 WASHINGTON IRVING .
... and ghastly glare of a snowy night ! With what wistful look did he eye every trembling ray of light streaming across the 1 From Milton's L'Allegro . waste fields from some distant window ! How often was 42 WASHINGTON IRVING .
طبعات أخرى - عرض جميع المقتطفات
عبارات ومصطلحات مألوفة
Acadian American ANNABEL LEE Annapolis River Basil bear beauty behold bells BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH bird character church dark death deciduous door Emerson England English Ernest Evangeline eyes farmer father forest French friends Gabriel gleamed Grand-Pré hand head heard heart heaven Henry hill House of Burgesses Ichabod Ichabod Crane Indian Israfel labor land light literary literature lived looked maiden meadows morning mountain nature neighboring never Nevermore night Nova Scotia o'er passed pine Poe's poem poet poetry prairies priest published Quoth the Raven RALPH WALDO EMERSON Raven Rip Van Winkle river rose round seemed shadow shore side silence Sir Launfal Sleepy Hollow smile song sorrow soul sound speech spirit Stone Face stood story stream sweet thee thou thought tion tonian tree trout valley village Virginia voice volume Washington wind winter wonder woods words
مقاطع مشهورة
الصفحة 194 - Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.
الصفحة 362 - All alone, And who tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone — They are neither man nor woman — They are neither brute nor human — They are Ghouls: And their king it is who tolls; And he rolls, rolls, rolls, Rolls A paean from the bells!
الصفحة 175 - 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.
الصفحة 352 - Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore, For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore, Nameless here for evermore.
الصفحة 159 - Every clod feels a stir of might, An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And, groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers.
الصفحة 357 - This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er She shall press, ah, nevermore ! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. "Wretch...
الصفحة 176 - Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, Save his own dashings — yet the dead are there : And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep— the dead reign there alone.
الصفحة 129 - Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, Nor looks to see the breaking day Across the mournful marbles play! Who hath not learned, in hours of faith, The truth to flesh and sense unknown, That Life is ever lord of Death, And Love can never lose its own!
الصفحة 194 - NAUTILUS This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, Sails the unshadowed main, — The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings, And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.
الصفحة 26 - Rip looked and beheld a precise counterpart of himself as he went up the mountain, apparently as lazy and certainly as ragged. The poor fellow was now completely confounded. He doubted his own identity, and whether he was himself or another man. In the midst of his bewilderment, the man in the cocked hat demanded who he was, and what was his name. "God knows," exclaimed he, at his wit's end; "I'm not myself.