Studies in English and American Literature, from Chaucer to the Present Time: With Standard Selections from Representative Writers for Critical Study and Analysis : Designed for Use in High Schools, Academies, Seminaries, Normal Schools, and by Private Students
Raub & Company, 1882 - 468 страници
Какво казват хората - Напишете рецензия
Не намерихме рецензии на обичайните места.
Други издания - Преглед на всички
American appeared Author beauty became began born called Cambridge character Charles chief close College CRITICISM death died Dispose earth Educated ellipsis England English essays Explain expression eyes father feel figure George Give the grammatical Give the meaning grammatical construction greatest hand head heart heaven History hope human hundred Italy John kind king language leaves Lectures light literary literature living London look mind modify moral Name Name the modifiers Nature never novels object once Parse passed period phrase play poems poet poetry Point popular position present prose published refer sentence side song soon soul spent story style Supply thee things thou thought tion trees turn United University volume writer written Wrote young
Страница 320 - When thoughts Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Over thy spirit, and sad images Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart...
Страница 186 - So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; And the bride-maidens whispered '"Twere better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.
Страница 340 - This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, Sails the unshadowed main, — The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings, And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.
Страница 67 - Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights and live laborious days; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears, And slits the thin-spun life. "But not the praise...
Страница 382 - And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days; Then heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays : Whether we look, or whether we listen, We hear life murmur, or see it glisten ; Every clod feels a stir of might, An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And, groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers...
Страница 151 - May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, The parting word shall pass my lips no more ! Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern, Oft gave me promise of thy quick return. What ardently I wished, I long believed, And, disappointed still, was still deceived ; By expectation every day beguiled. Dupe of to-morrow even from a child...
Страница 70 - That to the faithful herdman's art belongs! What recks it them? What need they? They are sped; And when they list, their lean and flashy songs Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw; The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed...
Страница 138 - Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side ; But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all ; And, as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Страница 137 - To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, To pick her wintry fagot from the thorn, To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn; She only left of all the harmless train, The sad historian of the pensive plain.
Страница 64 - Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear Compels me to disturb your season due : For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer. Who would not sing for Lycidas ? He knew Himself to sing and build the lofty rhyme. He must not float upon his watery bier Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, Without the meed of some melodious tear.