Bracebridge Hall: Or, The Humorists, a Medley

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G. P. Putnam's sons, 1867 - 465
 

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Strona 31 - Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For, lo, the winter is past, The rain is over and gone ; The flowers appear on the earth ; The time of the singing of birds is come, And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land ; The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, And the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
Strona 136 - And thou was the meekest man and the gentlest that ever ate in hall among ladies. And thou were the sternest knight to thy mortal foe that ever put spear in the rest.
Strona 46 - Why, soldiers, why Should we be melancholy, boys, Why, soldiers, why ? Whose business 'tis to die...
Strona 94 - ... hearing a traveller of poetical temperament expressing the kind of horror which he felt on beholding, on the banks of the Missouri, an oak of prodigious size, which had been, in a manner, overpowered by an enormous wild grapevine. The vine had clasped its huge folds round the trunk, and thence had wound about every branch and twig, until the mighty tree had withered in its embrace.
Strona 78 - I sauntered to the window, and stood gazing at the people, picking their way to church, with petticoats hoisted mid-leg high, and dripping umbrellas. The bell ceased to toll, and the streets became silent. I then amused myself with watching the daughters of a tradesman opposite, who being confined to the house for fear of wetting their Sunday finery, played off their charms at the front windows, to fascinate the chance tenants of the Inn.
Strona 77 - ... cock, drenched out of all life and spirit; his drooping tail matted, as it were, into a single feather, along which the water trickled from his back; near the cart was a half-dozing cow, chewing the cud, and standing patiently to be rained on, with wreaths of vapor rising from her reeking hide; a wall-eyed horse, tired of the loneliness of the stable, was poking his spectral head out of a window, with the rain dripping on it from the eaves; an unhappy cur, chained to a doghouse hard by, uttered...
Strona 466 - ... the Hudson. A gun was brought to bear on her, and, with some difficulty, loaded and fired by Hans Van Pelt, the garrison not being expert in artillery. The shot seemed absolutely to pass through the ship, and to skip along the water on the other side, but no notice was taken of it! What was strange, she had all her sails set, and sailed right against wind and tide, which were both down the river. Upon this Hans Van Pelt, who was likewise...
Strona 76 - I know of nothing more calculated to make a man sick of this world than a stable-yard on a rainy day. The place was littered with wet straw that had been kicked about by travellers and stable-boys.
Strona 403 - The poor soul sat singing by a sycamore tree, Sing all a green willow ; Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee, Sing willow, willow, willow : Sing all a green willow must be my garland.
Strona 76 - I was still feverish, and was obliged to keep within doors all day, in an inn of the small town of Derby. A wet Sunday in a country inn ! whoever has had the luck to experience one, can alone judge of my situation. The rain pattered against the casements ; the bells tolled for church with a melancholy sound. I went to the...

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