ParnassusRalph Waldo Emerson |
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Page xxxi
... Dead Body of Cęsar Ariel's Song 205 • 440 Art and Nature 132 Battle of St. Crispian's Day Blow , Blow , thou Winter Wind Bolingbroke's Entrance into London 211 439 285 Man of Ross Cassius 272 203 Portrait of Addison Clarence's Dream 271 ...
... Dead Body of Cęsar Ariel's Song 205 • 440 Art and Nature 132 Battle of St. Crispian's Day Blow , Blow , thou Winter Wind Bolingbroke's Entrance into London 211 439 285 Man of Ross Cassius 272 203 Portrait of Addison Clarence's Dream 271 ...
Page 13
... dead leaves ; The farmers laughed and nodded , and some bent Their yellow heads together like their sheaves : Men have no faith in fine - spun sen- timent Who put their trust in bullocks and in beeves . The birds were doomed ; and , as ...
... dead leaves ; The farmers laughed and nodded , and some bent Their yellow heads together like their sheaves : Men have no faith in fine - spun sen- timent Who put their trust in bullocks and in beeves . The birds were doomed ; and , as ...
Page 14
... Dead fell the birds , with blood- stains on their breasts , Or wounded crept away from sight of man , While the young died of famine in their nests : A slaughter to be told in groans , not words , The very St. Bartholomew of birds ! The ...
... Dead fell the birds , with blood- stains on their breasts , Or wounded crept away from sight of man , While the young died of famine in their nests : A slaughter to be told in groans , not words , The very St. Bartholomew of birds ! The ...
Page 25
... dead before . Every one for his own . The night is starry and cold , my friend , And the New - year blithe and bold , my friend , Comes up to take his own . How hard he breathes ! over the snow I heard just now the crowing cock . The ...
... dead before . Every one for his own . The night is starry and cold , my friend , And the New - year blithe and bold , my friend , Comes up to take his own . How hard he breathes ! over the snow I heard just now the crowing cock . The ...
Page 26
... dead ! have I not heard your voices Rise on the night - rolling breath of the gale ? " Surely the soul of the hero rejoices , And rides on the wind o'er his own Highland vale : Round Loch na Gair , while the stormy mist gathers , Winter ...
... dead ! have I not heard your voices Rise on the night - rolling breath of the gale ? " Surely the soul of the hero rejoices , And rides on the wind o'er his own Highland vale : Round Loch na Gair , while the stormy mist gathers , Winter ...
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Common terms and phrases
arms bear beauty beneath birds blood brave breath bring clouds comes crown dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth eyes face fair fall fear field fire flowers give gold gone grace green hand hast hath head hear heard heart heaven hope hour keep king lady land leaves light live look Lord mind morn Nature never night o'er once pass poor rest rise rock rose round seen ship side sight sing sleep smile song soon soul sound speak spirit spring stand stars stood sweet tears tell thee thine things thou thought tree true turned unto voice wave wild wind wood young
Popular passages
Page 102 - Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, Tis not too late to seek a newer world. Push off, and sitting well in order smite The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths Of all the western stars until I die. It may be that the gulfs will wash us down: It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. Tho' much is taken, much abides, and tho...
Page 176 - What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now forever taken from my sight ; Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower, — We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind ; In the primal sympathy Which, having been, must ever be ; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death. In years that bring the philosophic mind.
Page 168 - The hills Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun, the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woods — rivers that move 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. 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.
Page 28 - Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll ! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore ; — upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy...
Page 126 - Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! A savage place ! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover ! And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, A mighty fountain momently was forced ; Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail : And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever It flung up...
Page 151 - With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ; His youthful hose well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank ; and his big, manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange, eventful history, Is second childishness, and mere oblivion ; Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.
Page 230 - Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet! Our God is marching on. In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me: As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, While God is marching on.
Page 5 - Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild. And ever, against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse ; Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes, with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long, drawn out With wanton heed and giddy cunning ; The melting voice through mazes running, Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony ; That Orpheus...
Page 274 - MILTON ! thou should'st be living at this hour : England hath need of thee : she is a fen Of stagnant waters : altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men ; Oh ! raise us up, return to us again ; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart : Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea : Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou...
Page 126 - And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ; And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover!