The Living Authors of America: 1st ser |
From inside the book
Results 1-5 of 77
Page vii
... give an opinion cannot be disputed , seeing that it is assumed and exercised by every newspaper critic in the world . We trust to the indulgence of our readers for this egotistical statement , which has been forced from us by sundry ...
... give an opinion cannot be disputed , seeing that it is assumed and exercised by every newspaper critic in the world . We trust to the indulgence of our readers for this egotistical statement , which has been forced from us by sundry ...
Page 17
... may feel inclined to bestow upon England ; but we must admit , that the smiling benignity with which Mr. Irving surveys every evidence of aristocratical power , gives us but a very poor opinion of JAMES FENIMORE COOPER . 17.
... may feel inclined to bestow upon England ; but we must admit , that the smiling benignity with which Mr. Irving surveys every evidence of aristocratical power , gives us but a very poor opinion of JAMES FENIMORE COOPER . 17.
Page 18
1st ser Thomas Powell. power , gives us but a very poor opinion of either his sincerity . or his republican feelings . He describes , with evident delight , the royal state of the English nobility ; he has no eye to see the foundation of ...
1st ser Thomas Powell. power , gives us but a very poor opinion of either his sincerity . or his republican feelings . He describes , with evident delight , the royal state of the English nobility ; he has no eye to see the foundation of ...
Page 24
... give him his own character . He illustrated this position with many instances of men , whose religious opinions we well knew , and in every instance he pre- sented us with a key to the man's whole character . This undeviating coherency ...
... give him his own character . He illustrated this position with many instances of men , whose religious opinions we well knew , and in every instance he pre- sented us with a key to the man's whole character . This undeviating coherency ...
Page 31
... give Jacopo more time . I doubt not the poor fellow hath struck a blow since quit- ting the palace that the council will not forgive ! The sight of gold hath been too strong , and he hath offended those who have so long borne with him ...
... give Jacopo more time . I doubt not the poor fellow hath struck a blow since quit- ting the palace that the council will not forgive ! The sight of gold hath been too strong , and he hath offended those who have so long borne with him ...
Other editions - View all
Common terms and phrases
Acadian admiration Alnwick Castle American Annabel Lee beauty beneath breath Bryant Byron Cachuca Carmelite character charm Coleridge consider Cooper critic Dana dark death dramatist dream earth elaborate elegant Emerson England English evidence expression fact fair feel force genius George Sand give gondola grave Halleck hand hath heard heart heaven HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW human HYPOLITO intellect JARED SPARKS Kirkland lady land Leigh Hunt light lines living Longfellow look Margaret Fuller mind Miss Fuller monomania nation Natty Bumppo nature never o'er once opinion passion peculiar poem poet poet's poetical poetry Prescott present prose quote Ralph Waldo Emerson reader remarks romance scene seems Shakspeare singular smile soul sound spirit stanza style sure sweet thee things thou thought throw tion true truth verse voice Willis woman word Wordsworth writings
Popular passages
Page 130 - Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,— " Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, " art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore: Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore !" Quoth the Raven,
Page 127 - The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, Went envying her and me Yes! that was the reason (as all men know. In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night. Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
Page 208 - THE groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them — ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems ; in the darkling wood, Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down, And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication.
Page 129 - But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you" — here I opened wide the door; Darkness there and nothing more.
Page 128 - Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of, forgotten lore, — While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door: Only this and nothing more.
Page 84 - And marked the mild, angelic air, The rapture of repose that's there, The fixed yet tender traits that streak The languor of the placid cheek, And — but for that sad shrouded eye, That fires not, wins not, weeps not now, And but for that chill, changeless brow...
Page 194 - I see before me the Gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand — his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his drooped head sinks gradually low — And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder shower ; and now The arena swims around him : he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.
Page 219 - A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A Creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows , simple wiles , Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
Page 127 - Of many far wiser than we; And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee: For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee...
Page 159 - The village smithy stands ; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands ; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.