Final Memorials of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Volume 1

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This extensive volume, edited by Samuel Longfellow, includes mostly Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's journals and correspondences. Additional content comes from samples of Longfellow's poetry, as well as an appendix with biographical information.

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Page 98 - Quivi, secondo che per ascoltare, '"non avea pianto, ma' che di sospiri, "che 1'aura eterna facevan tremare.
Page 297 - And that which should accompany old age, As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have; but, in their stead, Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honor, breath, Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not.
Page 22 - Then from a neighboring thicket the mockingbird, wildest of singers, Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water, Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music, That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent to listen...
Page 134 - AT the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill, And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove...
Page 273 - There was a listening fear in her regard, As if calamity had but begun; As if the vanward clouds of evil days Had spent their malice, and the sullen rear Was with its stored thunder labouring up.
Page 287 - Of aspect more sublime: that blessed mood In which the burthen of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world, Is lightened; that serene and blessed mood, In which the affections gently lead us on, Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul...
Page 401 - The naked hulk alongside came, And the twain were casting dice; "The game is done! I've won! I've won!
Page 355 - It is too late ! Ah, nothing is too late Till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate.
Page 368 - NEED not praise the sweetness of his song, Where limpid verse to limpid verse succeeds Smooth as our Charles, when, fearing lest he wrong The new moon's mirrored skiff, he slides along, Full without noise, and whispers in his reeds. With loving breath of all the winds his name Is blown about the world, but to his friends A sweeter secret hides behind his fame, And Love steals shyly through the loud acclaim To murmur a God bless you ! and there ends.
Page 308 - He then took up the volume of Poe, and, turning the leaves, particularly commended the stanzas entitled For Annie and The Haunted Palace. Then, still speaking of criticism, he mentioned the great number of newspaper and magazine articles, about his own writings, that were received by him — sent, apparently, by their writers. " I look at the first few lines...

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