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LibraryThing ReviewNutzerbericht - cjyurkanin - LibraryThing
A modern "Canterbury Tales" fit for American tastes, complete with "The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere." Contains also "The Saga of King Olaf," (Theodore Roosevelt's favorite poem) the longest section ... Vollständige Rezension lesen
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Angel answered arms arrow beard birds Bishop breath chamber Church cried cross dark Dead rides Sir death deep divine door dream Drontheim Earl ended eyes face fair fairest falcon fear Federigo gazed give gleamed gold guest Hakon Half hand head hear heard heart Italy King Olaf land laughed leaves lifting light listened live look Lord loud morning Morten of Fogelsang Never night o'er Olaf's Olaf's Priest once passed prayer Queen replied rides Sir Morten ring roar rose round sails Salten Scald seemed seen ships shore shout side Sigurd silent Sing smiled song sound stand stood street Strong summer Svend sword tale Thangbrand thee things Thor thou thoughts Three told town turned voice walked wall wide wild wind women wood
Seite 21 - Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. Now he patted his horse's side...
Seite 23 - Revere ; And so through the night went his cry of alarm To every Middlesex village and farm. A cry of defiance and not of fear, A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, And a word that shall echo forevermore! For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, Through all our history, to the last, In the hour of darkness and peril and need, The people will waken and listen to hear The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, And the midnight message of Paul Revere.
Seite 22 - A hurry of hoofs in a village street, A shape in the moonlight; a bulk in the dark, And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet: That was all! and yet, through the gloom and the light, The fate of a nation was riding that night; And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
Seite 23 - So through the night rode Paul Revere ; And so through the night went his cry of alarm To every Middlesex village and farm, — A cry of defiance and not of fear, A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, And a word that shall echo forevermore...
Seite 212 - SNOW-FLAKES. 00T of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent, and soft, and slow Descends the snow. Even as our cloudy fancies take Suddenly shape in some divine expression, Even as the troubled heart doth make In the white countenance confession, The troubled sky reveals The grief it feels.
Seite 23 - It was twelve by the village clock When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. He heard the crowing of the cock, And the barking of the farmer's dog, And felt the damp of the river fog, That rises after the sun goes down.
Seite 23 - That rises after the sun goes down. It was one by the village clock, When he galloped into Lexington. He saw the gilded weathercock Swim in the moonlight as he passed, And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, Gaze at him with a spectral glare, As if they already stood aghast At the bloody work they would look upon. It was two by the village clock, When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
Seite 23 - You know the rest. In the books you have read, How the British regulars fired and fled, How the farmers gave them ball for ball, From behind each fence and farm-yard wall, Chasing the red-coats down the lane, Then crossing the fields to emerge again Under the trees at the turn of the road, And only pausing to fire and load.
Seite 19 - Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, Just as the moon rose over the bay, Where swinging wide at her moorings lay The Somerset, British man-of-war; A phantom ship, with each mast and spar Across the moon like a prison bar, And a huge black hulk, that was magnified By its own reflection in the tide.
Seite 189 - Linnet and meadow-lark and all the throng That dwell in nests and have the gift of song. You slay them all! and wherefore? for the gain Of a scant handful, more or less, of wheat Or rye or barley or some other grain, Scratched up at random by industrious feet. Searching for worm or weevil after rain! Or a few cherries that are not so sweet As are the songs these uninvited guests Sing at their feast with comfortable breasts.