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الصفحة 413 - O Captain ! my Captain ! rise up and hear the bells ; Rise up — for you the flag is flung — for you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and...
الصفحة 252 - From the higher mind of cultivated, all-questioning, but still conservative England, in this our puzzled generation, we do not know of any utterance in literature so characteristic as the poems of Arthur Hugh Clough." — ERASER'S MAGAZINE. Clunes THE STORY OF PAULINE: an Autobiography.
الصفحة 474 - Matched with this cameleopard — his fine wit Makes such a wound, the knife is lost in it ; A strain too learned for a shallow age, Too wise for selfish bigots ; let his page, Which charms the chosen spirits of the time. Fold itself up for the serener clime Of years to come, and find its recompense In that just expectation.
الصفحة 566 - ABOVE the pines the moon was slowly drifting, The river sang below ; The dim Sierras, far beyond, uplifting Their minarets of snow. The roaring camp-fire, with rude humor, painted The ruddy tints of health On haggard face and form that drooped and fainted In the fierce race for wealth ; Till one arose, and from his pack's scant treasure A hoarded volume drew, And cards were dropped from hands of listless leisure To hear the tale anew. And then, while round them...
الصفحة 413 - O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain! my Captain!
الصفحة 453 - The History of the United States of America, from the Discovery of the Continent to the Organization of Government under the Federal Constitution.
الصفحة 138 - I beg you to accept my best thanks for the uncommon degree of entertainment which I have received from the most excellently jocose history of New York. I am sensible that as a stranger to American parties and politics, I must lose much of the concealed satire of the piece...
الصفحة 342 - When Nature was shaping him, clay was not granted For making so full-sized a man as she wanted, So, to fill out her model, a little she spared From some finer-grained stuff for a woman prepared, And she could not have hit a more excellent plan For making him fully and perfectly man.
الصفحة 344 - Now I look back, and meadow, manse, and stream Dimly my thought defines; I only see — a dream within a dream — The hill-top hearsed with pines. I only hear above his place of rest Their tender undertone, The infinite longings of a troubled breast, The voice so like his own.