A Book of New England Legends and Folk Lore in Prose and Poetry

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Little, Brown, 1910 - 477ÆäÀÌÁö

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90 ÆäÀÌÁö - 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.
89 ÆäÀÌÁö - Of the lonely belfry and the dead; For suddenly all his thoughts are bent On a shadowy something far away, Where the river widens to meet the bay,— A line of black that bends and floats On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
89 ÆäÀÌÁö - A hurry of hoofs in a village street, A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, And beneath from the pebbles, in passing, a spark Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet ; That was all ! And yet, through the gloom and the light, The fate of a nation was riding that night ; And the spark struck out by that steed in his flight, Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
231 ÆäÀÌÁö - Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips, Girls in bloom of cheek and lips, Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase Bacchus round some antique vase, Brief of skirt, with ankles bare, Loose of kerchief and loose of hair, With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns' twang, Over and over the Maenads sang: "Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o
389 ÆäÀÌÁö - Go, stand on the hill where they lie. The earliest ray of the golden day On that hallowed spot is cast ; And the evening sun, as he leaves the world, Looks kindly on that spot last. The pilgrim spirit has not fled : It walks in noon's broad light ; And it watches the bed of the glorious dead, With the holy stars, by night. It watches the bed of the brave who have bled, And shall guard this ice-bound shore, Till the waves of the bay, where the May-Flower lay, Shall foam and freeze no more.
142 ÆäÀÌÁö - In a close lane as I pursued my journey, I spied a wrinkled hag, with age grown double, Picking dry sticks, and mumbling to herself.
152 ÆäÀÌÁö - 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.
388 ÆäÀÌÁö - Full of the breath of the Lord, consoling and comforting many. Then, as he opened the door, he beheld the form of the maiden Seated beside her wheel, and the carded wool like a snow-drift Piled at her knee, her white hands feeding the ravenous spindle, While with her foot on the treadle she guided the wheel in its motion.
88 ÆäÀÌÁö - If the British march By land or sea from the town to-night, Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch Of...
370 ÆäÀÌÁö - In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs — and God has given my share — I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down...

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