- Field, Eugene
The Poems of Eugene Field
Charles Scribner's Sons, New York, 1910, Cloth, , First Edition, Very Good /No Jacket
553 pp. P.O. signature dated 1910 ffep. TEG. Green cloth, gilt decoration on front board, gilt lettering on spine. Gilt is bright cloth is fairly clean. Top and bottom of spine and corners have slight rubbing. Pages are clean and bright save for the TP, where a 2X4 newspaper clipping about Field, 'Birthday Bio Briefs' as been laid in causing the inevitable shadow.
The Lucile project is an attempt to recover the publishing history of a single 19th century book. Owen Meredith's Lucile was first published in 1860, by Chapman & Hall in England and as a Ticknor & Fields "Blue & Gold" in the United States. It was reviewed in the New York Times, as well as other newspapers and magazines. In England, it saw only a handful of editions over the next 40 years. In the United States, however, it remained in print until 1938, last offered as a surviving title in Burt's Home Library remaindered to Blue Ribbon Books in 1936. It went out of print in 1938.
The Center for Book Arts, a not-for-profit organization founded in 1974, offers over 100 classes and workshops in bookbinding, letterpress printing, paper marbling, typography, and related fields. The Center has mounted over 140 exhibitions during the last 25 years.
This site is dedicated to reprinting the works of Annie Adams Fields in accessible annotated editions. It was begun as a "spin-off" from the Sarah Orne Jewett Text Project.—by Terry Heller Coe College
AY! Unto thee belong The pipe and song, Theocritus,— Loved by the satyr and the faun! To thee the olive and the vine, To thee the Mediterranean pine, And the soft lapping sea! Thine, Bacchus, Thine, the blood-red revels, Thine, the bearded goat! Soft valleys unto thee, And Aphrodite’s shrine, And maidens veiled in falling robes of lawn! But unto us, to us, The stalwart glories of the North; Ours is the sounding main, And ours the voices uttering forth By midnight round these cliffs a mighty strain; A tale of viewless islands in the deep Washed by the waves’ white fire; Of mariners rocked asleep, In the great cradle, far from Grecian ire Of Neptune and his train; To us, to us, The dark-leaved shadow and the shining birch, The flight of gold through hollow woodlands driven, Soft dying of the year with many a sigh, These, all, to us are given! And eyes that eager evermore shall search The hidden seed, and searching find again Unfading blossoms of a fadeless spring; These, these, to us! The sacred youth and maid, Coy and half afraid; The sorrowful earthly pall, Winter and wintry rain, And autumn’s gathered grain, With whispering music in their fall; These unto us! And unto thee, Theocritus, To thee, The immortal childhood of the world, The laughing waters of an inland sea, And beckoning signal of a sail unfuried!Annie Fields [1834-1915]