A Book about Longfellow

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T. Nelson, 1900 - 165 pages
 

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Page 28 - I remember the black wharves and the slips, And the sea-tides tossing free ; And Spanish sailors with bearded lips, And the beauty and mystery of the ships, And the magic of the sea. And the voice of that wayward song Is singing and saying still « "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.
Page 124 - The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light. Here in this room she died; and soul more white Never through martyrdom of fire was led To its repose; nor can in books be read The legend of a life more benedight.
Page 63 - Look not mournfully into the Past. It comes not back again. Wisely improve the Present. It is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy Future, without fear, and with a manly heart.
Page 114 - Oft have I seen at some cathedral door A laborer, pausing in the dust and heat, Lay down his burden, and with reverent feet Enter, and cross himself, and on the floor Kneel to repeat his paternoster o'er; Far off the noises of the world retreat; The loud vociferations of the street Become an undistinguishable roar. So, as I enter here from day to day, And leave my burden at this minster gate, 10 Kneeling in prayer, and not ashamed to pray, The tumult of the time disconsolate To inarticulate murmurs...
Page 132 - Why touch upon such themes?" perhaps some friend May ask, incredulous; "and to what good end? Why drag again into the light of day The errors of an age long passed away?" I answer: "For the lesson that they teach: The tolerance of opinion and of speech. Hope, Faith, and Charity remain, — these three; And greatest of them all is Charity...
Page 83 - ... up the hill in one syllable, and down the dale in another, retaining no part of that stately smooth gait which he vaunts himself with among the Greeks and Latins.
Page 144 - Good night ! good night ! as we so oft have said Beneath this roof at midnight, in the days That are no more, and shall no more return. Thon hast but taken thy lamp and gone to bed ; I stay a little longer, as one stays To cover up the embers that still burn.
Page 67 - Though, half-way up the hill, I see the Past Lying beneath me with its sounds and sights, — A city in the twilight dim and vast, With smoking roofs, soft bells, and gleaming lights. — And hear above me on the autumnal blast The cataract of Death far thundering from the heights.
Page 84 - Still more do I thank you for resigning to me that legend of Acady. This success I owe entirely to you, for being willing to forego the pleasure of writing a prose tale which many people would have taken for poetry, that I might write a poem which many people take for prose.
Page 78 - Stalworth and stately in form was the man of seventy winters; Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered with snowflakes; White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as brown as the oak-leaves.

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