Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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Little, Brown & Company, 1882 - 17 pages
 

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Page 3 - And the music of that old song Throbs in my memory Still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the sea-fight far away, How it thundered o'er the tide! And the dead captains, as they lay In their graves, o'e'rlooking the tranquil bay Where they in battle died. And the sound of that mournful song Goes through me with a thrill: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.
Page 5 - And with them the being beauteous, Who unto my youth was given, More than all things else, to love me, And is now a saint in heaven. With a slow and noiseless footstep Comes that messenger divine, Takes the vacant chair beside me, Lays her gentle hand in mine. And she sits and gazes at me With those deep and tender eyes, Like the stars so still and saint-like, Looking downward from the skies.
Page 10 - Good night! good night! as we so oft have said Beneath this roof at midnight, in the days That are no more, and shall no more return. Thou hast but taken thy lamp and gone to bed ; I stay a little longer, as one stays To cover up the embers that still burn.
Page 17 - L'ardua sua materia terminando, Con atto e voce di spedito duce s: Ricominciò: Noi semo usciti fuore Del maggior corpo al ciel, ch'è pura luce; Luce intellettual piena d'amore, *> Amor di vero ben pien di letizia, Letizia che trascende ogni dolzore.
Page 10 - WHEN I remember them, those friends of mine, Who are no longer here, the noble three, Who half my life were more than friends to me, And whose discourse was like a generous wine, I most of all remember the divine Something, that shone in them, and made us see The archetypal man, and what might be The amplitude of Nature's first design. In vain I stretch my hands to clasp their hands; I cannot find them. Nothing now is left But...
Page 5 - Coplas de Don Jorge Manrique. Translated from the Spanish, with an Introductory Essay on the Moral and Devotional Poetry of Spain, by Henry W.
Page 15 - On the mountains of memory, by the world's well-springs, In all men's eyes, Where the light of the life of him is on all past things, Death only dies. "Not the light that was quenched for us, nor the deeds that were Nor the ancient days, Nor the sorrows not sorrowful, nor the face most fair Of perfect praise.
Page 13 - I heard the trailing garments of the night Sweep through her marble halls.
Page 6 - The Wreck of the Hesperus," "The Village Blacksmith,

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