Classics Books

THE POETRY OF MADISON CAWEIN When a poet begins writing, and we begin liking his work, we own willingly enough that we have not, and cannot have, got the compass of his talent. We must wait till he has written more, and we have learned to like him more, and even then we should hesitate his definition, from all that he has done, if we did not very commonly qualify ourselves from the latest thing he has... more...

VERSES WRITTEN IN A GROTTO In a Wood on the Side of the River Dart, IN DEVONSHIRE. Tell me, thou grotto! o'er whose brow are seenProjecting plumes, and shades of deep'ning green,—While not a sound disturbs thy stony hall,While all thy dewy drops forget to fall,—Why canst thou not thy soothing charms impart,And shed thy quiet o'er this beating heart?Tell me, thou... more...

POEMS THE POET'S SECRET. The poet's secret I must know,If that will calm my restless mind.I hail the seasons as they go,I woo the sunshine, brave the wind. I scan the lily and the rose,I nod to every nodding tree,I follow every stream that flows,And wait beside the steadfast sea. I question melancholy eyes,I touch the lips of women fair:Their lips and eyes may make me wise,But what I seek for... more...

he sleek transcontinental airliner settled onto one of the maze of runways that was Stevenson Airport. With its turbojets fading into a dense roar, it taxied across the field toward the central building. Inside the plane a red light went off. Senator Vance Duran unhooked the seat belt, reached for his briefcase, and stepped into the crowded aisle. The other passengers were all strangers, which had... more...

CHAPTER I If Nature is infallible, there should be some philosophic or eugenic professor arise and explain why she made such a grievous error in the personal appearance, vocal qualities, and general gestures of the learned judge, astute politician and hopeful statesman, Hon. J. Woodworth-Granger and Mr. James Gollop, perigrinating drummer for a chocolate house. Either the Honorable Judge should have... more...

A SONG. I. No riches from his scanty store  My lover could impart;He gave a boon I valued more—  He gave me all his heart! II. His soul sincere, his gen'rous worth,  Might well this bosom move;And when I ask'd for bliss on earth,  I only meant his love. III. But now for me, in search of gain  From shore to shore he flies:Why wander riches to obtain,  When love is all I prize?... more...

HEINRICH HEINE. (BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH.) Harry Heine, as he was originally named, was born in Düsseldorf on the Rhine, December 13th, 1799. His father was a well-to-do Jewish merchant; and his mother, the daughter of the famous physician and Aulic Counlor Von Geldern, was, according to her son, a "femme distinguée." His early childhood fell in the days of the occupation of Düsseldorf by the... more...

THE FIRST BOOK.   Orleans was hush'd in sleep. Stretch'd on her couch  The delegated Maiden lay: with toil  Exhausted and sore anguish, soon she closed  Her heavy eye-lids; not reposing then,  For busy Phantasy, in other scenes  Awakened. Whether that superior powers,  By wise permission, prompt the midnight dream,  Instructing so the passive [1] faculty;  Or that the soul,... more...

ERNEST DOWSON I The death of Ernest Dowson will mean very little to the world at large, but it will mean a great deal to the few people who care passionately for poetry. A little book of verses, the manuscript of another, a one-act play in verse, a few short stories, two novels written in collaboration, some translations from the French, done for money; that is all that was left by a man who was... more...

POEMS. Tis sweet in boyhood's visionary mood,When glowing Fancy, innocently gay,Flings forth, like motes, her bright aërial brood,To dance and shine in Hope's prolific ray;'Tis sweet, unweeting how the flight of yearsMay darkling roll in trials and in tears,To dress the future in what garb we list,And shape the thousand joys that never may exist.But he, sad wight! of all that feverish... more...