American Literary ReadingsLeonidas Warren Payne Rand McNally, 1917 - 647 páginas |
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Página xv
... feel the necessity of definite preparation for class recitation . If the questions are never resorted to specifically , the pupils will soon develop the habit of ignoring them . Minute and detailed study of a single classic is ...
... feel the necessity of definite preparation for class recitation . If the questions are never resorted to specifically , the pupils will soon develop the habit of ignoring them . Minute and detailed study of a single classic is ...
Página 13
... feel pity , I verily believe he reciprocated the sentiment with all his heart . 220 In a long ramble of the kind on a fine autumnal day , Rip had unconsciously scrambled to one of the highest parts of the Kaatskill Mountains . He was ...
... feel pity , I verily believe he reciprocated the sentiment with all his heart . 220 In a long ramble of the kind on a fine autumnal day , Rip had unconsciously scrambled to one of the highest parts of the Kaatskill Mountains . He was ...
Página 28
... the beholder into noiseless reverence . We feel that we are surrounded by the congre- gated bones of the great men of past times , who have filled history with their deeds , and the earth with their 28 American Literary Readings.
... the beholder into noiseless reverence . We feel that we are surrounded by the congre- gated bones of the great men of past times , who have filled history with their deeds , and the earth with their 28 American Literary Readings.
Página 37
... feel inclined even to deny him a place among the major writers of America . It is true that his grammar is not always correct , that his diction is sometimes turgid and bombastic , and that there are many evidences of weakness in the ...
... feel inclined even to deny him a place among the major writers of America . It is true that his grammar is not always correct , that his diction is sometimes turgid and bombastic , and that there are many evidences of weakness in the ...
Página 49
... feel a pride in striving to outdo them . For my- self , I conclude all the Bumppos could shoot , for I have a natural turn with a rifle , which must have been handed down 125 from generation to generation , as , our holy commandments ...
... feel a pride in striving to outdo them . For my- self , I conclude all the Bumppos could shoot , for I have a natural turn with a rifle , which must have been handed down 125 from generation to generation , as , our holy commandments ...
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Termos e frases comuns
Acadian American beauty bird Bob-o'-link Bryant called Carbuncle chee Chingachgook dark dead death door earth Emerson England Evangeline eyes face father forest friends gleam grave gray hand Hawk-eye Hawthorne head hear heard heart heaven hills Holmes Indian James Fenimore Cooper laugh Leatherstocking Tales leave Leaves of Grass letter light literary literature live Longfellow look Lowell maiden morning mountain Natty Bumppo nature never night o'er passed poems poet poetry prose RALPH WALDO EMERSON Rip Van Winkle river round seemed shadow shore side silent sing Sir Launfal song Sophocles soul sound Spink spirit star stood story strange sweet tell thee thing Thoreau thou thought tomb tree Twice-told Tales verse village voice volume Walt Whitman Whitman Whittier wild WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT wind wonder woods words young youth
Passagens mais conhecidas
Página 64 - midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way ? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
Página 65 - Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near.
Página 63 - In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green,- and, poured round all, Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man.
Página 63 - The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashings, yet the dead are there...
Página 142 - DAYS. DAUGHTERS of Time, the hypocritic Days, Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes, And marching single in an endless file, Bring diadems and fagots in their hands. To each they offer gifts after his will, Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all. I, in my pleached garden, watched the pomp, Forgot my morning wishes, hastily Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day Turned and departed silent. I, too late, Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn.
Página 96 - O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up— for you the flag is flung— for you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths— for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain!
Página 64 - So live that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan which moves To that mysterious realm where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of Death, Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed...
Página 139 - By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world. The foe long since in silence slept; Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; And Time the ruined bridge has swept Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. On this green bank, by this soft stream, We set to-day a votive stone; That memory may their deed redeem, When, like our sires, our sons are gone. Spirit, that made those heroes dare To die,...
Página 66 - And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.
Página 96 - O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain! my Captain!