Tales of a Wayside Inn

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Century Company, 1907 - American poetry - 199 pages
 

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Page 24 - So through the night rode Paul Revere ; And so through the night went his cry of alarm To every Middlesex village and farm, — A cry of defiance and not of fear, A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, And a word that shall echo...
Page 21 - By the trembling ladder, steep and tall, To the highest window in the wall, Where he paused to listen and look down A moment on the roofs of the town And the moonlight flowing over all. Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, In their...
Page 57 - With retinue of many a knight and squire, On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat And heard the priests chant the Magnificat. And as he listened, o'er and o'er again Repeated, like a burden or refrain, He caught the words...
Page 21 - 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,
Page 23 - He has left the village and mounted the steep, And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep, Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides; And under the alders that skirt its edge, Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.
Page 19 - Good night ! ' and with muffled oar Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, Just as the moon rose over the bay, Where swinging wide at her moorings lay The Somerset, British man-of-war ; A...
Page 59 - At length the sexton hearing from without The tumult of the knocking and the shout, And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer, Came with his lantern asking, "Who is there?" Half choked with rage. King Robert fiercely said, "Open: 'Tis I, the King! Art thou afraid?
Page 62 - 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 folding-door...
Page 150 - Sooner than the word was spoken Flew the yeoman's shaft; Einar's bow in twain was broken, Einar only laughed. "What was that?" said Olaf, standing On the quarter-deck. "Something heard I like the stranding Of a shattered wreck.
Page 193 - O'er fields and orchards, and o'er woodland crests, The ceaseless fusillade of terror ran. Dead fell the birds, with bloodstains on their breasts, Or wounded crept away from sight of man, While the young died of famine in their nests : A slaughter to be told in groans, not words, The very St. Bartholomew of birds...

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