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Alcuin alyssum and columbine army of Amurath Azrael Badoura beast behold birds bread breath brooklet Brother Timothy Casal-Maggiore castle Charlemagne cock with feathers country wine cried dark dead death delight of dying door Eginhard Elizabeth Elizabeth Haddon Emperor Eyes so tristful fate feet Franciscan friar gate gazed Gilbert gleamed guest hand Hannah the housemaid hast hath heard the watch-dogs heart HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW horses Interlude iron Iskander John Estaugh Joseph King Landlord laughed Lest the sweet light listen look Lord Merry Merry England monk mystery night noble savage o'er Olger answered palace pass Poet rode Sang Sayeth SCANDERBEG Scribe shining Sicilian SICILIAN'S TALE singing Sir Christopher smiled snow song spake SPANISH JEW'S stood Svend Dyring sweet alyssum sword of Damocles tell thee Theologian thou find rest told tower town unto Uprose voice walls whispered wine wood words
Page 59 - 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 131 - In the top of the uppermost bough. We cordially greet each other In the old, familiar tone ; And we think, though we do not say it, How...
Page 134 - ... father's knee, An eager listener unto stories told At the Round Table of the nursery, Of heroes and adventures manifold. There will be other towers for thee to build ; There will be other steeds for thee to ride ; There will be other legends, and all filled With greater marvels and more glorified. Build on, and make thy castles high and fair, Rising and reaching upward to the skies ; Listen to voices in the upper air, Nor lose thy simple faith in mysteries.
Page 138 - There is a greater army, That besets us round with strife, A starving, numberless army, At all the gates of life. The poverty-stricken millions Who challenge our wine and bread, And impeach us all as traitors, Both the living and the dead. And whenever I sit at the banquet, Where the feast and song are high, Amid the mirth and the music I can hear that fearful cry. And hollow and haggard faces Look into the lighted hail, And wasted hands are extended To catch the crumbs that fall.