The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 76Atlantic Monthly Company, 1895 - American essays |
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ain't Alixe Angel Alley Arthur asked Bayard beautiful birds called canals Captain church Coleridge dark daugh dear door England English eral eyes face father feel felt fire France Frank Bellamy French friends Gabord Gilbert Parker girl give hand head heard heart Helen Hite hour Iliad IVORY SOAP jury knew laugh Lena letter light live look Louis Blanc M'sieu Marquis de Montcalm marriage ment mind Miss morning mountain Nadaud nature ness never night Odyssey once passed perhaps Persimmon Sneed poet Polk Prince de Ligne Quebec Robert Swain Peabody seemed seen smile Solis Lacus speak spirit stood story strong sure talk tell thing thought tion told took town turned Voban voice wife wind window woman words writing young
Popular passages
Page 275 - And we fairies, that do run By the triple Hecate's team, From the presence of the sun, Following darkness like a dream, Now are frolic : not a mouse Shall disturb this hallow'd house : I am sent with broom before, To sweep the dust behind the door.
Page 639 - They that sow in tears shall reap in joy. He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him.
Page 415 - I consider as an echo of the former, coexisting with the conscious will, yet still as identical with the primary in the kind of its agency, and differing only in degree, and in the mode of its operation. It dissolves, diffuses, dissipates, in order to re-create ; or where this process is rendered impossible, yet still at all events it struggles to idealize and to unify.
Page 154 - For the love of God is broader Than the measure of man's mind; And the heart of the Eternal Is most wonderfully kind.
Page 415 - The primary Imagination I hold to be the living power and prime agent of all human perception, and as a repetition in the finite mind of the eternal act of creation in the infinite I AM...
Page 172 - That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please. Give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee.
Page 387 - The cup of forbearance had been exhausted, even before the recent information from the frontier of the Del Norte. But now, after reiterated menaces, Mexico has passed the boundary of the United States, has invaded our territory, and shed American blood upon the American soil.
Page 503 - There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.
Page 413 - Cloisters stand still, entranced with admiration (while he weighed the disproportion between the speech and the garb of the young Mirandula), to hear thee unfold, in thy deep and sweet intonations, the mysteries of Jamblichus, or Plotinus (for even in those years thou waxedst not pale at such philosophic draughts), or reciting Homer in his Greek, or Pindar— —while the walls of the old Grey Friars re-echoed to the accents of the inspired charity-boy! — Many were the "wit-combats...
Page 422 - But never either found another To free the hollow heart from paining They stood aloof, the scars remaining, Like cliffs, which had been rent asunder; A dreary sea now flows between; But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder, Shall wholly do away, I ween, The marks of that which once hath been.