Western Wanderings: A Record of Travel in the Evening Land

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R. Bentley, 1874 - 364 pàgines
 

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Pàgina 151 - And first behold this cordial julep here, That flames and dances in his crystal bounds, With spirits of balm and fragrant syrups mixed; Not that nepenthes, which the wife of Thone In Egypt gave to Jove-born Helena, Is of such power to stir up joy as this, To life so friendly or so cool to thirst.
Pàgina 312 - There is an order Of mortals on the enrth who do become Old in their youth, and die ere middle age, Without the violence of warlike death ; Some perishing of pleasure, some of study, Some worn with toil, some of mere weariness, Some of disease, some of insanity, And some of
Pàgina 151 - mixed; Not that nepenthes, which the wife of Thone In Egypt gave to Jove-born Helena, Is of such power to stir up joy as this, To life so friendly or so cool to thirst.
Pàgina 192 - Whoe'er has travelled life's dull round, Where'er his stages may have been, May sigh to think he still has found The warmest welcome at an inn.
Pàgina 256 - foal of an oppressed race, I love the languid patience of thy face; And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread, And clap thy ragged coat, and pat thy head.
Pàgina 55 - clusters of roses and purple amorphas. Over them wander the buffalo herds and the elk and the roebuck; Over them wander the wolves, and herds of riderless horses;
Pàgina 261 - A house where none hath ever died.' Thus through the long and weary day From every door she bore away Within her heart, and on her arm, A heavier load, a deeper harm. By gates of gold and ivory, By wattled huts of poverty, The
Pàgina 312 - Old in their youth, and die ere middle age, Without the violence of warlike death ; Some perishing of pleasure, some of study, Some worn with toil, some of mere weariness, Some of disease,
Pàgina 262 - many.' The evening came so still and fleet, And overtook her hurrying feet, And, heart-sick, by the sacred fane She fell and prayed the god again. She sobbed and beat her bursting breast:
Pàgina 223 - like it before— When I hunted a wounded doe to the edge o' the Clear Lake shore ; And I had my knee on its neck, and jist was raisin

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