Notice the different mental images that come to you as you read each of the following selections.  Distinguish words that cause images to arise from those that do not.

1.  Before these fields were shorn and tilled,
      Full to the brim our rivers flowed;
    The melody of waters filled
      The fresh and boundless wood;
    And torrents dashed, and rivulets played,
      And fountains spouted in the shade.

—­Bryant:  An Indian at the Burial Place of his Fathers.

2.  At that moment the woods were filled with another burst of cries, and at the signal four savages sprang from the cover of the driftwood.  Heyward felt a burning desire to rush forward to meet them, so intense was the delirious anxiety of the moment; but he was restrained by the deliberate examples of the scout and Uncas.  When their foes, who leaped over the black rocks that divided them, with long bounds, uttering the wildest yells, were within a few rods, the rifle of Hawkeye slowly rose among the shrubs and poured out its fatal contents.  The foremost Indian bounded like a stricken deer and fell headlong among the clefts of the island.

—­Cooper:  Last of the Mohicans.

3.  The towering flames had now surmounted every obstruction, and rose to the evening skies, one huge and burning beacon, seen far and wide through the adjacent country.  Tower after tower crashed down, with blazing roof and rafter; and the combatants were driven from the courtyard.  The vanquished of whom very few remained, scattered and escaped into the neighboring wood.  The victors, assembling in large bands, gazed with wonder, not unmixed with fear, upon the flames, in which their own ranks and arms glanced dusky red.  The maniac figure of the Saxon Ulrica was for a long time visible on the lofty stand she had chosen, tossing her arms abroad with wild exaltation as if she reigned empress of the conflagration which she had raised.  At length, with a terrific crash, the whole turret gave way and she perished in the flames which had consumed her tyrant.

—­Scott:  Ivanhoe.

4.  Under a spreading chestnut tree
      The village smithy stands;
    The smith, a mighty man is he,
      With large and sinewy hands;
    And the muscles of his brawny arms
      Are strong as iron bands.

—­Longfellow:  The Village Blacksmith.

5.  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.”

—­Edgar A. Poe:  The Raven.

6.  Where with black cliffs the torrents toil,
    He watch’d the wheeling eddies boil,
    Till, from their foam, his dazzled eyes
    Beheld the River Demon rise;
    The mountain mist took form and limb
    Of noontide hag or goblin grim.