Wilson's Book of Recitations and Dialogues: With Instructions in Elocution and Declamation : Designed as a Reading Book for Classes : and as an Assistant to Teachers and Students in Preparing Exhibitions
Dick & Fitzgerald, 1869 - 188 páginas
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Wilson's Book of Recitations and Dialogues: With Instructions in Elocution ...
Floyd Baker Wilson
Pré-visualização indisponível - 186?
Ainsworth amusing arms Beaumond beautiful snow beneath Bingen blood Bound in boards brave breast breath bright brow Burlesque cloth back 50 Comic cried dark dead dear dear old Flag death deep Dialogues dollars and dimes dream earth Elocution eyes Fannie father fear Flag Flag of Washington gentle give Granton grave hand Hattie havo heard heart heaven hope Jane land laugh light lips live Lombard University look mother Muskingum College never Nevermore night o'er Paper covers Parlor Parlor Magic poor Price 30 cts Prof Pupil Quoth the raven Rhine Rosa scene sleep smile soldier Songs SONGSTER sorrow soul sound spirit stand stars tears tell thee There's thou thought Tis green to-day to-night tone TONY PASTOR'S Twas voice wave weary wild wind wonder word young youth
Página 137 - Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, " Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you "—here I opened wide the door.
Página 139 - Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend ! " I shrieked, upstarting. " Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore ! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken ! Leave my loneliness unbroken ! — quit the bust above my door ! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door ! " Quoth the Raven,
Página 50 - So live, that, when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, which moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Página 48 - To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language ; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware.
Página 136 - Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and. curious volume of forgotten lore — While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. " "Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door — Only this and nothing more.
Página 180 - Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them With deafning clamours in the slippery clouds, That, with the hurly," death itself awakes ? Can'st thou, O partial sleep ! give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude ; And in the calmest and most stillest night, With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down ! Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
Página 108 - THERE is a land, of every land the pride, Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside...
Página 19 - We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final restingplace of those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our power to add or detract.
Página 49 - The hills Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun,— the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woods— rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,— Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man.