Evangeline: a tale [in verse]. |
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Page 30
... thee ; Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box of tobacco ; Never so much thyself art thou as when through the curling Smoke of the pipe or the forge thy friendly and jovial face gleams Round and red as the harvest moon ...
... thee ; Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box of tobacco ; Never so much thyself art thou as when through the curling Smoke of the pipe or the forge thy friendly and jovial face gleams Round and red as the harvest moon ...
Page 81
... thee who Many a tedious year ; come , give him thy hand and be happy ! Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Catha- rine's tresses . " Then would Evangeline answer , serenely but sadly , - " I cannot ! Wither my heart has gone there ...
... thee who Many a tedious year ; come , give him thy hand and be happy ! Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Catha- rine's tresses . " Then would Evangeline answer , serenely but sadly , - " I cannot ! Wither my heart has gone there ...
Page 82
... thee ! Talk not of wasted affection ; affection never was wasted ; If it enrich not the heart of another , its waters , returning Back to their springs , like the rain , shall fill them full of refreshment ; That which the fountain ...
... thee ! Talk not of wasted affection ; affection never was wasted ; If it enrich not the heart of another , its waters , returning Back to their springs , like the rain , shall fill them full of refreshment ; That which the fountain ...
Page 95
... the word that floats on the surface Is as the tossing buoy , that betrays where the anchor is hidden . Therefore trust to thy heart , and to what the world calls illusions . Gabriel truly is near thee ; for not far away EVANGELINE . 95.
... the word that floats on the surface Is as the tossing buoy , that betrays where the anchor is hidden . Therefore trust to thy heart , and to what the world calls illusions . Gabriel truly is near thee ; for not far away EVANGELINE . 95.
Page 96
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Gabriel truly is near thee ; for not far away to the southward , On the banks of the Têche , are the towns of St. Maur and St. Martin . There the long - wandering bride shall be given again to her bridegroom ...
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Gabriel truly is near thee ; for not far away to the southward , On the banks of the Têche , are the towns of St. Maur and St. Martin . There the long - wandering bride shall be given again to her bridegroom ...
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Common terms and phrases
Acadian Acadie accents aloft anon answer art thou Author of Voices barns Basil the blacksmith beauty behold BELFRY OF BRUGES blossom cattle cheer darkness descended desert door dwellings Evangeline stood Evangeline's heart Executive Government exile eyes face farm-yard farmer Father Felician flocks flowers footsteps forest Gabriel garden gazed gleamed golden Government of France hand heard heaven HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW herds herdsman horses Hyperion labour LAMARTINE land LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS light lips LONGFELLOW'S Loud maiden meadows meek morning myste neighbouring night notary notary public o'er ocean Ozark mountains passed Patience paused POEMS prairies priest river roofs rose sang shade shadow ships shore silent Sister of Mercy slowly slumber snow-white sorrow soul sound spake sunshine Super-royal 32mo sweet tale thee thou thought tide Unto village of Grand-Pré waited wander weary whispered wind woodlands words
Popular passages
Page 8 - This is the forest primeval ; but where are the hearts that beneath it Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman?
Page 56 - Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and forgiveness? This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you profane it Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with hatred? Lo! where the crucified Christ from his cross is gazing upon you! See! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and holy compassion! Hark! how those lips still repeat the prayer, 'O Father, forgive them!
Page 7 - THIS is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Page 151 - All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow, All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing, All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience ! And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom, Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured,
Page 15 - When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music.
Page 137 - Faded was she and old, when in disappointment it ended. Each succeeding year stole something away from her beauty, Leaving behind it, broader and deeper, the gloom and the shadow. Then there appeared and spread faint streaks of gray o'er her forehead, Dawn of another life, that broke o'er her earthly horizon, As in the eastern sky the first faint streaks of the morning.
Page 53 - Prisoners now I declare you, for such is his Majesty's pleasure!" As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice of summer, Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of the hailstones Beats down the farmer's corn in the field, and shatters his windows. Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with thatch from the house-roofs...
Page 78 - Scattered were they, like flakes of snow, when the wind from the northeast Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the Banks of Newfoundland. Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from city to city, From the cold lakes of the North to sultry Southern savannas, — From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands where the Father of Waters Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them down to the ocean, Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones of the mammoth.
Page 21 - Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests on the rafters, Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which the swallow Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight of its fledglings; Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of the swallow!
Page 15 - Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the bell from its turret Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest with his hyssop . Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings upon them...