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38 cents 50 cents 63 cents 75 cents angels answered John Alden beautiful beheld boy's brave Wattawamat breath BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR Cæsar Captain of Plymouth CINQUE PORTS Cloth cloud Damascus dark dead death desert dreams Edition errand ESSAYS eyes face feel feet Flanders Flower forest friendship Garden of Eden Gleamed GOLDEN LEGEND graves hand haunted heard heart heaven Helgoland HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW Indian Julius Cæsar land laughed LEGEND light long thoughts look Lord loud matchlock meadow Miles Standish mist night noble NOVEL o'er ocean OLIVER BASSELIN pause phantom Plates POEMS POETICAL Portrait prayer Priscilla Puritan maiden sail Sandalphon scabbard ships silent singing smile song sound spake speak spinning stood strange sunshine sweet swift Thereupon answered John thoughts of youth Vaud Victor Galbraith village voice vols walls wild wind wind's wonderful words youth are long
Page 197 - And nature, the old nurse, took The child upon her knee, Saying : "Here is a story-book Thy Father has written for thee." "Come, wander with me," she said, "Into regions yet untrod; And read what is still unread In the manuscripts of God." And he wandered away and away With Nature, the dear old nurse, Who sang to him night and day The rhymes of the universe. And whenever the way seemed long, Or his heart began to fail, She would sing a more wonderful song, Or tell a more marvelous tale.
Page 169 - A boy's will is the, wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair, And with joy that is almost pain My heart goes back to wander there, And among the dreams of the days that were, I find my lost youth again. And the strange and beautiful song, The groves are repeating it still : "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.
Page 126 - The heights by great men reached and kept Were not attained by sudden flight, But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night. Standing on what too long we bore With shoulders bent and downcast eyes, We may discern — unseen before — A path to higher destinies. Nor deem the irrevocable Past As wholly wasted, wholly vain, If, rising on its wrecks, at last To something nobler we attain.
Page 195 - WIND came up out of the sea, And said, " O mists, make room for me." It hailed the ships, and cried, " Sail on, Ye mariners, the night is gone." And hurried landward far away, Crying, "Awake ! it is the day." It said unto the forest, " Shout ! Hang all your leafy banners out ! " It touched the wood-bird's folded wing, And said, "O bird, awake and sing.
Page 165 - I remember the black wharves and the slips, And the sea-tides tossing free ; And Spanish sailors with bearded lips, And the beauty and mystery of the ships, And the magic of the sea. And the voice of that wayward song Is singing and saying still : " A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.
Page 137 - Our little lives are kept in equipoise By opposite attractions and desires ; The struggle of the instinct that enjoys, And the more noble instinct that aspires.
Page 198 - Or tell a more marvellous tale. So she keeps him still a child, And will not let him go, Though at times his heart beats wild For the beautiful Pays de Vaud; Though at times he hears in his dreams The Ranz des Vaches of old, And the rush of mountain streams From glaciers clear and cold; And the mother at home says, "Hark! For his voice I listen and yearn; It is growing late and dark, And my boy does not return!
Page 177 - Happy he whom neither wealth nor fashion, Nor the march of the encroaching city, Drives an exile From the hearth of his ancestral homestead. We may build more splendid habitations, Fill our rooms with paintings and with sculptures, But we cannot Buy with gold the old associations...
Page 201 - Come to me, O ye children ! And whisper in my ear What the birds and the winds are singing In your sunny atmosphere. For what are all our contrivings, And the wisdom of our books, When compared with your caresses, And the gladness of your looks 1 Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said ; For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead.