The Living Authors of America: 1st serStringer and Townsend, 1850 - 365 páginas |
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Página 12
... a guilty conscience , his restless and disturbed action told me more than words : when , finally , under the paroxysm of the terrible dream , he starts up , and staggers to the very brink of 12 COOPER . JAMES FENIMORE.
... a guilty conscience , his restless and disturbed action told me more than words : when , finally , under the paroxysm of the terrible dream , he starts up , and staggers to the very brink of 12 COOPER . JAMES FENIMORE.
Página 38
... dreams : what a romance of madness , love , hatred , and vanity , is the unspoken life of every man : —un- acted certainly in deed , but thoroughly acted in thought ... dream of forest wanderings that in after 38 COOPER . JAMES FENIMORE.
... dreams : what a romance of madness , love , hatred , and vanity , is the unspoken life of every man : —un- acted certainly in deed , but thoroughly acted in thought ... dream of forest wanderings that in after 38 COOPER . JAMES FENIMORE.
Página 39
1st ser Thomas Powell. to this early dream of forest wanderings that in after life we derive pleasure from works of fiction , and more especially from those parts which remind us more strongly of our chivalric longings . Who has not in ...
1st ser Thomas Powell. to this early dream of forest wanderings that in after life we derive pleasure from works of fiction , and more especially from those parts which remind us more strongly of our chivalric longings . Who has not in ...
Página 53
... dreams , Again I meet thy ardent beams , Queen of things . I dare not die In Being's deep , past ear and eye , Lest thee I find the same deceiver , And be the sport of fate for ever . Dread Power , but dear ! if God thou be , Unmake me ...
... dreams , Again I meet thy ardent beams , Queen of things . I dare not die In Being's deep , past ear and eye , Lest thee I find the same deceiver , And be the sport of fate for ever . Dread Power , but dear ! if God thou be , Unmake me ...
Página 86
... dream , Its joyousness so sunned the gazer's eye ! Fair were his locks : his snowy teeth divided A bow of love , drawn with a scarlet thread . His cheek was like the moist heart of the rose , And but for nostrils of that breathing fire ...
... dream , Its joyousness so sunned the gazer's eye ! Fair were his locks : his snowy teeth divided A bow of love , drawn with a scarlet thread . His cheek was like the moist heart of the rose , And but for nostrils of that breathing fire ...
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Términos y frases comunes
Acadian admiration Alnwick Castle American Annabel Lee beauty beneath breath Bryant Byron Cachuca Carmelite character charm Coleridge consider Cooper critic Dana dark death dramatist dream earth elaborate elegant Emerson England English evidence expression fact fair feel force genius George Sand give gondola grave Halleck hand hath heard heart heaven HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW human HYPOLITO intellect JARED SPARKS Kirkland lady land Leigh Hunt light lines living Longfellow look Margaret Fuller mind Miss Fuller monomania nation Natty Bumppo nature never o'er once opinion passion peculiar poem poet poet's poetical poetry Prescott present prose quote Ralph Waldo Emerson reader remarks romance scene seems Shakspeare singular smile soul sound spirit stanza style sure sweet thee things thou thought throw tion true truth verse voice Willis woman word Wordsworth writings
Pasajes populares
Página 130 - Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,— " Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, " art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore: Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore !" Quoth the Raven,
Página 127 - The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, Went envying her and me Yes! that was the reason (as all men know. In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night. Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
Página 208 - THE groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them — ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems ; in the darkling wood, Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down, And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication.
Página 129 - But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you" — here I opened wide the door; Darkness there and nothing more.
Página 128 - 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 84 - And marked the mild, angelic air, The rapture of repose that's there, The fixed yet tender traits that streak The languor of the placid cheek, And — but for that sad shrouded eye, That fires not, wins not, weeps not now, And but for that chill, changeless brow...
Página 194 - I see before me the Gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand — his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his drooped head sinks gradually low — And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder shower ; and now The arena swims around him : he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.
Página 219 - A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A Creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows , simple wiles , Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
Página 127 - Of many far wiser than we; And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee: For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee...
Página 159 - The village smithy stands ; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands ; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.