The poetical works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Author's pocket-vol. ed, Том 1

Лицевая обложка
 

Отзывы - Написать отзыв

Не удалось найти ни одного отзыва.

Избранные страницы

Другие издания - Просмотреть все

Часто встречающиеся слова и выражения

Популярные отрывки

Стр. 183 - THERE is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair ! The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead ; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted ! Let us be patient!
Стр. 185 - Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken The bond which nature gives, Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken, May reach her where she lives. Not as a child shall we again behold her; For when with raptures wild In our embraces we again enfold her, She will not be a child; But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion, Clothed with celestial grace; And beautiful with all the soul's expansion Shall we behold her face.
Стр. 21 - When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. Stars they are, wherein we read our history, As astrologers and seers of eld ; Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery, Like the burning stars, which they beheld.
Стр. 48 - SPEAK! speak! thou fearful guest, Who, with thy hollow breast Still in rude armor drest, Comest to daunt me! Wrapt not in Eastern balms, But with thy fleshless palms Stretched, as if asking alms, Why dost thou haunt me?" Then, from those cavernous eyes Pale flashes seemed to rise, As when the Northern skies Gleam, in December; And, like the water's flow Under December's snow, Came a dull voice of woe From the heart's chamber.
Стр. 13 - PSALMIST. tELL me not, in mournful numbers, ' ' Life is but an empty dream ! " For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real ! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal ; " Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Стр. 65 - 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.
Стр. 141 - I saw her bright reflection In the waters under me. Like a golden goblet falling And sinking into the sea. And far in the hazy distance Of that lovely night in June, The blaze of the naming furnace Gleamed redder than the moon...
Стр. 54 - It was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughter To bear him company. Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, That ope in the month of May.
Стр. 109 - Emigravit is the inscription on the tombstone where he lies ; Dead he is not — but departed — for the artist never dies. Fairer seems the ancient city, and the sunshine seems more fair That he once has trod its pavement, that he once has breathed its air...
Стр. 55 - Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, That ope in the month of May. The skipper he stood beside the helm, His pipe was in his mouth, And he watched how the veering flaw did blow The smoke now West, now South.

Библиографические данные