Imagini ale paginilor
PDF
ePub

Kingdom of God, The
Laura in Heaven

Joseph Ernest Renan
Petrarch

Like as the Waves Make Toward the Pebbled Shore,
William Shakespeare 315
Bernardin de Saint-Pierre 184
Plato 67
William Shakespeare 281
Sir Walter Scott
William Shakespeare
George Sand
Alexander Pope

235

294
198
108

Love of Country, The
Lover's Thought, A
Macbeth Surrounded

March of the Highlanders, The
Mark Antony's Speech
Marquise de R., The .
Messiah

Mission of the Republican Party, The,

Mothers and Children

My Castle in Spain
My Familiar
My Love

Night Adventure, A

No Longer Mourn for Me When I Am Dead,

On Books and Book-Buyers

On Conversation
Orlando and Adam
Painting and Painters
Philosopher, The .
Place of Banishment
Political Economy
Portia's Speech
Praise of Rosalind
Raven, The
Rescue, The
Reverence for Life

Shylock and Antonio
Soliloquy of Richard
Song of the Bell

Theodore Roosevelt
Plutarch

Toys

Truth

Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer Day,

John Godfrey Saxe
John Godfrey Saxe
Petrarch
James K. Paulding

Truthfulness in Art
Two Scottish Fishwomen
Ulalume

Universal Prayer, The

Venice.

William Shakespeare
John Ruskin
F. de la Rochefoucauld
William Shakespeare
John Ruskin

With Fox and Hounds
Woodman, Spare that Tree.
Young Lochinvar

Southern Refrain, A

Speech of Caius Marius to the Romans
Storming of the Castle, The .
Stray Thoughts
Susceptibility of the Senses

Sweet and Twenty
Toussaint L'Ouverture

Sir Walter Scott
Jean P F Richter
Jean P. F. Richter
William Shakespeare
Wendell Philips
Jean P. F. Richter
Jean P. F. Richter

John Ruskin
Charles Reade
Edgar Allan Poe
Alexander Pope
John Ruskin

War Song of the Royal Edinburgh Light Dragoons,

Sir Walter Scott
Sir Walter Scott
George Pope Morris

Sir Walter Scott

William Shakespeare
William Shakespeare
William Shakespeare
Johann C. F. von Schiller

George Pope Morris

Sallust

PAGE

138

57

Plato 66
Ovid 38
John Ruskin 183
William Shakespeare 302
William Shakespeare 280
Edgar Allan Poe
Charles Reade
Jean P. F. Richter

75
129
144

164

74

215

213

58

41

315

177

155

297

173

316
276

300

225

6

194

248

144

141

316

61

142

142

182

115

86

103

178

268
245
5
270

GEORGE POPE MORRIS

GEORGE POPE MORRIS, an American journalist and poet, was born at Philadelphia in 1802; died in New York in 1864. He was one of the founders of the New York Mirror. Although he produced two successful plays, his fame rests on his poems and songs.

WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE

WOOD

OODMAN, spare that tree!
Touch not a single bough!
In youth it sheltered me,
And I'll protect it now.
'Twas my forefather's hand

That placed it near his cot;
There, woodman, let it stand,
Thy axe shall harm it not.
That old familiar tree,

Whose glory and renown
Are spread o'er land and sea,

And wouldst thou hew it down?
Woodman, forbear thy stroke!

Cut not its earth-bound ties;
Oh, spare that aged oak,

Now towering to the skies.
When but an idle boy,

I sought its grateful shade;
In all their gushing joy

Here, too, my sisters played;
My mother kissed me here;

My father pressed my hand-
Forgive this foolish tear,

And let that old oak stand!

5

VOL. VII.

My heart-strings round thee cling,
Close as thy bark, old friend!
Here shall the wild-bird sing,

And still thy branches bend.
Old tree! the storm still brave;
And, woodman, leave the spot!
While I've a hand to save,

Thy axe shall harm it not.

A SOUTHERN REFRAIN

N

EAR the lake where drooped the willow,
Long time ago!

Where the rock threw back the billow,
Brighter than snow,

Dwelt a maid, beloved and cherished
By high and low;

But, with autumn's leaf she perished,
Long time ago!

Rock and tree and flowing water,
Long time ago!

Bee and bird and blossom taught her
Love's spell to know!

While to my fond words she listened,
Murmuring low,

Tenderly her dove eyes glistened,
Long time ago!

Mingled were our hearts forever!
Long time ago!

Can I now forget her? Never!
No, lost one, no!

To her grave these tears are given,
Ever to flow;
She's the star I missed from heaven,
Long time ago!

WILLIAM MORRIS

WILLIAM MORRIS, poet, artist and social reformer, was born at Walthamstow, England, in 1834; died in London, in 1896. He was educated at Oxford. In 1863 he established manufactory for decorative furnishings and stained glass. The workman of the Middle Ages was his ideal. The time when one man conceived the design and carried it out to the finishing touches, a work of art, though it was but for kitchen use. This idea occurs constantly in his writings. His most notable works are "The Earthly Paradise," The Tale of the House of Wolfings' and "The Water of the Wonderous Isles." He also wrote a number of lectures, books and articles on socialism, and made some excellent translations.

66

ATALANTA'S RACE

(From "The Earthly Paradise")

U

A temple to the goddess that he sought, That, turned unto the lion-bearing lands, Fenced from the east, of cold winds hath no thought, Though to no homestead there the sheaves are

brought,

No groaning press torments the close-clipped murk, Lonely the fane stands, for from all men's work.

Pass through a close, set thick with myrtle-trees, Through the brass doors that guard the holy place, And entering, hear the washing of the seas That twice a-day rise high above the base, And with the south-west urging them, embrace The marble feet of her that standeth there That shrink not, naked though they be and fair.

Small is the fane through which the seawind sings About Queen Venus' well-wrought image white, But hung around are many precious things, The gifts of those who, longing for delight, Have hung them there within the goddess' sight, And in return have taken at her hands The living treasures of the Grecian lands.

And thither now has come Milanion,
And showed unto the priests' wide open eyes
Gifts fairer than all those that there have shone,
Silk cloths, inwrought with Indian fantasies,
And bowls inscribed with sayings of the wise
Above the deeds of foolish living things,
And mirrors fit to be the gifts of kings.

And now before the Sea-born One he stands, By the sweet veiling smoke made dim and soft, And while in incense trickles from his hands, And while the odorous smoke-wreaths hang aloft, Thus doth he pray to her: "O Thou, who oft Hast holpen man and maid in their distress, Despise me not for this my wretchedness!

"O goddess, among us who dwell below,
Kings and great men, great for a little while,
Have pity on the lowly heads that bow,
Nor hate the hearts that love them without guile;
Wilt thou be worse than these, and is thy smile
A vain device of him who set thee here,
An empty dream of some artificer?

"O, great one, some men love, and are ashamed; Some men are weary of the bonds of love; Yea, and by some men lightly art thou blamed, That from thy toils their lives they cannot move, And 'mid the ranks of men their manhood prove, Alas! O goddess, if thou slayest me

What new immortal can I serve but thee?

« ÎnapoiContinuați »