A Book of New England Legends and Folk Lore in Prose and Poetry. Illustrated by F. T. Merrill

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Roberts Brothers, 1884 - 461 Seiten
 

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Seite 88 - LISTEN, my children, and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in Seventyfive ; Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year. He said to his friend, "If the British march By land or sea from the town to-night, Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch Of the North Church tower as a signal light, — One, if by land, and two, if by sea...
Seite 90 - You know the rest. In the books you have read, How the British regulars fired and fled, How the farmers gave them ball for ball, From behind each fence and farm-yard wall, Chasing the red-coats down the lane, Then crossing the fields to emerge again Under the trees at the turn of the road, And only pausing to fire and load.
Seite 89 - Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. Now he patted his horse's side, Now gazed...
Seite 397 - Then, from those cavernous eyes Pale flashes seemed to rise, As when the Northern skies Gleam in December; And, like the water's flow Under December's snow, Came a dull voice of woe From the heart's chamber.
Seite 372 - The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well. That moss-covered vessel I hailed as a treasure, For often at noon, when returned from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing, And...
Seite 398 - Cloud-like we saw the shore Stretching to lee-ward; There for my lady's bower Built I the lofty tower, Which, to this very hour, Stands looking seaward.
Seite 387 - But as he warmed and glowed, in his simple and eloquent language, Quite forgetful of self, and full of the praise of his rival, Archly the maiden smiled, and, with eyes overrunning with laughter, Said, in a tremulous voice, "Why don't you speak for yourself, John?
Seite 152 - Such as gleam in ancient lore ; And the singing of the sailors, And the answer from the shore ! Most of all, the Spanish ballad Haunts me oft, and tarries long, Of the noble Count Arnaldos And the sailor's mystic song. Like the long waves on a sea-beach...
Seite 90 - It was one by the village clock When he galloped into Lexington. He saw the gilded weathercock Swim in the moonlight as he passed, And the meeting-house windows blank and bare Gaze at him with a spectral glare As if they already stood aghast At the bloody work they would look upon.
Seite 266 - She struck where the white and fleecy waves Looked soft as carded wool, But the cruel rocks, they gored her side Like the horns of an angry bull.

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