Critical Essays and Literary Notes

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G. P. Putnam's sons, 1880 - 382 من الصفحات

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الصفحة 254 - HE clasps the crag with hooked hands ; Close to the sun in lonely lands, Ringed with the azure world, he stands. The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls ; He watches from his mountain walls, And like a thunderbolt he falls.
الصفحة 24 - I CHATTER over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles. With many a curve my banks I fret By many a field and fallow, And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and mallow.
الصفحة 250 - But to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free, Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word, And in its hollow tones are heard The thanks of millions yet to be. Come when his task of fame is wrought, Come with her laurel-leaf...
الصفحة 178 - 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 8 - A sunny shaft did I behold, From sky to earth it slanted : And poised therein a bird so bold — Sweet bird, thou wert enchanted ! He sank, he rose, he twinkled, he trolled Within that shaft of sunny mist ; His eyes of fire, his beak of gold, , All else of amethyst ! And thus he sang : " Adieu ! adieu ! Love's dreams prove seldom true. The blossoms, they make no delay : The sparkling dew-drops will not stay. Sweet month of May, We must away ; Far, far away ! To-day! to-day!
الصفحة 253 - Armour rusting in his halls On the blood of Clifford calls ;— ' Quell the Scot/ exclaims the lance — ' Bear me to the heart of France...
الصفحة 264 - When he took off the gyves. A bearded man. Armed to the teeth, art thou ; one mailed hand Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword ; thy brow, Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred With tokens of old wars; thy massive limbs Are strong with struggling. Power at thee has launched His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee : They could not quench the life thou hast from heaven.
الصفحة 9 - The broken sheds look'd sad and strange : Unlifted was the clinking latch ; Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange. She only said, " My life is dreary, He cometh not...
الصفحة 329 - A man's best things are nearest him, Lie close about his feet, It is the distant and the dim That we are sick to greet...
الصفحة 154 - Heaven on high, it said, And peace on earth to gentle men. My song, save this, is little worth ; I lay the weary pen aside, And wish you health, and love, and mirth, As fits the solemn Christmas-tide. As fits the holy Christmas birth, Be this, good friends, our carol still — Be peace on earth, be peace on earth, To men of gentle will.

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