American Literary Criticism, Selected and Ed: With an Introductory Essay

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William Morton Payne
Longmans, Green, and Company, 1904 - 318 páginas

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Página 115 - I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, That my soul cannot resist : A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.
Página 112 - Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay. That shall soothe this restless feeling, And banish the thoughts of day. Not from the grand old masters. Not from the bards sublime. Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time.
Página 224 - She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love: A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye ! Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me!
Página 232 - OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE OUT OF NORFOLK, THE GIFT OF MY COUSIN, ANN BODHAM. OH that those lips had language ! Life has passed With me but roughly since I heard thee last. Those lips are thine — thy own sweet smile I see, The same that oft in childhood solaced me; Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, 'Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away!
Página 247 - The Sea of Faith Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furl'd. But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating, to the breath Of the night- wind, down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world.
Página 242 - So the spirit lifted me up, and took me away, and I went in bitterness, in the heat of my spirit ; but the hand of the LORD was strong upon me.
Página 225 - Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met, or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
Página 117 - Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer, Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here; Here still is the smile, that no cloud can o'ercast, And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last. Oh! what was love made for, if 'tis not the same Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame?
Página 186 - Other states indicate themselves in their deputies . . . but the genius of the United States is not best or most in its executives or legislatures, nor in its ambassadors or authors or colleges or churches or parlors, nor even in its newspapers or inventors . . . but always most in the common people.
Página 226 - Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is. What if my leaves are falling like its own! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!

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