Evenings in the Library: Bits of Gossip about Books and Those who Write Them

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Belford Brothers, 1878 - American essays - 254 pages

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Page 100 - He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat, Against the stinging blast ; He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to the mast. 'O father! I hear the church-bells ring, O say, what may it be?
Page 147 - God pity them both! and pity us all, Who vainly the dreams of youth recall. For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: "It might have been...
Page 101 - The salt sea was frozen on her breast, The salt tears in her eyes ; And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed. On the billows fall and rise. r Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow ! Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman's Woe ! HW LONGFELLOW.
Page 146 - He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees, Of the singing birds and the humming bees ; Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether The cloud in the west would bring foul weather. And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown.
Page 31 - ANNOUNCED by all the trumpets of the sky, Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields, Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven, And veils the farm-house 'at the garden's end. The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
Page 11 - With our readers in general, with men of right feeling anywhere, we are not required to plead for Burns. In pitying admiration he lies enshrined in all our hearts, in a far nobler mausoleum than that one of marble; neither will his Works, even as they are, pass away from the memory of men.
Page 31 - So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he For number or proportion. Mockingly On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths ; A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn, Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall, Maugre the farmer's sighs, and at the gate A tapering turret overtops the work.
Page 72 - You hear that boy laughing? You think he's all fun; But the angels laugh, too, at the good he has done. The children laugh loud as they troop to his call, And the poor man that knows him laughs loudest of all!
Page 175 - Before these fields were shorn and tilled, Full to the brim our rivers flowed ; The melody of waters filled The fresh and boundless wood ; And torrents dashed and rivulets played, And fountains spouted in the shade. Those grateful sounds are heard no more, The springs are silent in the sun ; The rivers, by the blackened shore, With lessening current run ; The realm our tribes are crushed to get May be a barren desert yet.
Page 175 - But I behold a fearful sign, To which the white men's eyes are blind ; Their race may vanish hence, like mine, And leave no trace behind, Save ruins o'er the region spread, And the white stones above the dead.

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