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Tales of a Wayside Inn, Illustr. from Designs by B. Foster [And Others]
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Keine Leseprobe verfügbar - 2015
Angel answered beard beneath birds Bishop breath bright chamber Church cried crossed dark Dead rides Sir death deep door dreams Drontheim Earl earth ended eyes face fair fairest of women falcon fear fields fire forest gazed give gleamed gold guest Hakon hand head hear heard heart hour Italy Jarl King Olaf land laughed light listened live look loud morning Morten of Fogelsang never night o'er Odin Olaf the King Olaf's Priest once passed played prayer Queen rides Sir Morten ring Robert rose round sailing Scald seemed seen shining ships shore shout silent singing smiled song sound stand stood street strong summer sword tale Thangbrand thee things thinking Thor Thora thou thoughts told town turned voice Waits wall wild wind wood
Seite 14 - It was two by the village clock When he came to the bridge in Concord town. He heard the bleating of the flock, And the twitter of birds among the trees, And felt the breath of the morning breeze Blowing over the meadows brown. And one was safe and asleep in his bed Who at the bridge would be first to fall, Who that day would be lying dead, Pierced by a British musket-ball.
Seite 11 - Good-night !" and with muffled oar 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. Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street, Wanders and watches with eager ears.
Seite 14 - 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 12 - Of the lonely belfry and the dead; For suddenly all his thoughts are bent On a shadowy something far away. Where the river widens to meet the bay, A line of black that bends and floats On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.
Seite 39 - Then, bowing down his head, King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast, And meekly answered him: "Thou knowest best! My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence, And in some cloister's school of penitence, Across those stones, that pave the way to heaven, Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul be shriven!
Seite 35 - His heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms, The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms, And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring With the mock plaudits of "Long live the King!
Seite 37 - Peter's square, Giving his benediction and embrace, Fervent, and full of apostolic grace. While with congratulations and with prayers He entertained the Angel unawares, Robert, the Jester, bursting through the crowd, Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud, " I am the King ! Look, and behold in me Robert, your brother, King of Sicily ! This man, who wears my semblance to your eyes, Is an impostor in a King's disguise. Do you not know me ? does no voice within Answer my cry, and say we are akin?
Seite 13 - 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 113 - From the camp on the shore. Then far away to the south uprose A little feather of snow-white smoke, And we knew that the iron ship of our foes Was steadily steering its course To try the force Of our ribs of oak. Down upon us heavily runs, Silent and sullen, the floating fort ; Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns, And leaps the terrible death, With fiery breath, From each open port. We are not idle, but send her straight Defiance back in a full broadside! As hail rebounds from a roof of slate,...
Seite 115 - OUT 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.