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No preface, no index, and the Table of Contents has redundant or meaningless categories -- two separate sections with poems listed under "translations", a "Voices of the Night" and a "Slavery" and ... Read full review
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Amurath Angel answered Azrael beard Bell of Atri bells beneath birds breath Brother Timothy Carmilhan Castine Charlemagne church cried dark Dead rides Sir death Decameron door dream Drontheim Eginhard eyes face falcon Federigo fire fled gate gazed gleamed guest Hakon hand Hannah the housemaid hath head hear heard heart Heimskringla INTERLUDE John Estaugh Killingworth King Olaf King Robert land Landlord laughed legend light listen Longfellow look Lord loud melodies monk morning Morten of Fogelsang night Norway o'er Odin Olaf the King Olaf's Priest Old North Church Olger passed Paul Revere pause Poet Queen rhymes rides Sir Morten ring rose round sails shining ship Sicilian Sigrid the Haughty Sigurd silent singing smiled song sound spake steed stood story Sudbury Svend sweet sword tale Thangbrand thee Theologian Thor thou told town unto voice wall warlocks Wayside wind wood words
Page 222 - SHIPS that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another, Only a look, and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.
Page 29 - It was one by the village clock When he galloped into Lexington. He saw the gilded weathercock Swim in the moonlight as he passed, And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, Gaze at him with a spectral glare, As if they already stood aghast At the bloody work they would look upon. It was two by the village clock "When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
Page 27 - In their night-encampment on the hill, Wrapped in silence so deep and still That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, The watchful night-wind, as it went Creeping along from tent to tent, And seeming to whisper, "All is well!
Page 122 - Plato, anticipating the Reviewers, From his Republic banished without pity The Poets ; in this little town of yours, You put to death, by means of a Committee, The ballad-singers and the Troubadours, The street-musicians of the heavenly city. The birds, who make sweet music for us all In our dark hours, as David did for Saul.
Page 123 - Think, every morning when the sun peeps through The dim, leaf-latticed windows of the grove, How jubilant the happy birds renew Their old, melodious madrigals of love ! And when you think of this, remember, too, 'Tis always morning somewhere, and above The awakening continents, from shore to shore, Somewhere the birds are singing evermore.
Page 119 - The robin and the bluebird, piping loud, Filled all the blossoming orchards with their glee ; The sparrows chirped as if they still were proud Their race in Holy Writ should mentioned be ; And hungry crows, assembled in a crowd, Clamored their piteous prayer incessantly, Knowing who hears the ravens cry, and said : " Give us, O Lord, this day, our daily bread...
Page 173 - Would the Vision there remain ? Would the Vision come again? Then a voice within his breast Whispered, audible and clear As if to the outward ear : " Do thy duty ; that is best ; Leave unto thy Lord the rest ! " Straightway to his feet he started, And with longing look intent On the Blessed Vision bent, Slowly from his cell departed, Slowly on his errand went. At the gate the poor were waiting, Looking through the iron grating, With that terror in the eye...
Page 26 - ... If the British march By land or sea from the town to-night, Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch Of the North Church tower as a signal light, — One, if by land, and two, if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm, For the country folk to be up and to arm.
Page 49 - Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and prayers, They thrust him from the hall and down the stairs ; A group of tittering pages ran before, And as they opened wide the...
Page 29 - He heard the bleating of the flock, And the twitter of birds among the trees, And felt the breath of the morning breeze Blowing over the meadows brown. And one was safe and asleep in his bed Who at the bridge would be first to fall, Who that day would be lying dead, Pierced by a British musket-ball. You know the rest. In the books you have read, How the British Regulars fired and fled, — How the farmers gave them ball for ball, From behind each fence and farm-yard wall, Chasing the red-coats down...