A Library of American Literature...

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Page 359 - The wild wind raves, the tide runs high, As up and down the beach we flit, One little sandpiper and I. Above our heads the sullen clouds Scud black and swift across the sky; Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds Stand out the white lighthouses high. Almost as far as eye can reach I see the close-reefed vessels fly, As fast we flit along the beach, One little sandpiper and I.
Page 41 - He hath swallowed down riches, and he shall vomit them up again: God shall cast them out of his belly.
Page 106 - Life is a narrow vale between the cold and barren peaks of two eternities. We strive in vain to look beyond the heights. We cry aloud, and the only answer is the echo of our wailing cry.
Page 290 - ... filled him pretty near up to his chin — and set him on the floor. Smiley he went to the swamp and slopped around in the mud for a long time, and finally he ketched a frog, and fetched him in, and give him to this feller, and says : " Now, if you're ready, set him alongside of Dan'l, with his fore-paws just even with Dan'l's, and I'll give the word.
Page 592 - Furl it ! for the hands that grasped it, And the hearts that fondly clasped it, Cold and dead are lying low; And that Banner — it is trailing, While around it sounds the wailing Of its people in their woe. For, though conquered, they adore it, — Love the cold, dead hands that bore it, Weep for those who fell before it, Pardon those who trailed and tore it; And, oh ! wildly they deplore it, Now who furl and fold it so...
Page 290 - Well," Smiley says, easy and careless, "he's good enough for one thing, I should judge — he can outjump any frog in Calaveras county.
Page 353 - Dis's waggon! daffodils That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath...
Page 290 - ... that straddle-bug to Mexico but what he would find out where he was bound for and how long he was on the road. Lots of the boys here has seen that Smiley, and can tell you about him.
Page 590 - The despot's heel is on thy shore, Maryland ! His torch is at thy temple door, Maryland ! Avenge the patriotic gore That flecked the streets of Baltimore, And be the battle-queen of yore, Maryland, my Maryland ! Hark to an exiled son's appeal, Maryland! My Mother State, to thee I kneel, Maryland ! For life and death, for woe and weal, Thy peerless chivalry reveal, And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel, Maryland, my Maryland ! Thou wilt not cower in the dust, Maryland...
Page 290 - ... the fences, and kicking up more dust, and raising more racket with her coughing and sneezing and blowing her nose— and always fetch up at the stand just about a neck ahead, as near as you could cipher it down.

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