A Winter in the Azores: And a Summer at the Baths of the Furnas, Volum 1


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PÓgina 259 - And seemliness complete, that sways Thy courtesies, about thee plays ; With no restraint, but such as springs From quick and eager visitings Of thoughts, that lie beyond the reach Of thy few words of English speech : A bondage sweetly brooked, a strife That gives thy gestures grace and life ! So have I, not unmoved in mind, Seen birds of tempest-loving kind Thus beating up against the wind.
PÓgina 62 - In lowly dale, fast by a river's side, With woody hill o'er hill encompassed round, A most enchanting wizard did abide, Than whom a fiend more fell is nowhere found. It was, I ween, a lovely spot of ground ; And there a season atween June and May, Half prankt with spring, with summer half imbrowned, A listless climate made, where, sooth to say, -- No living wight could work, ne cared even for play.
PÓgina 318 - May we know what this new doctrine, whereof thou speakest, is? 20. For thou bringest certain strange things to our ears: we would know therefore what these things mean. 21. (For all the Athenians, and strangers which were there, spent their time in nothing else, but either to tell or to hear some new thing.) 22.
PÓgina 192 - ... with songs and dances from house to house, blessing the people, and gathering of money ; and boyes do singe...
PÓgina 193 - Women, and to be ledde with songes and dances from house to house, blessing the people, and gathering of money...
PÓgina 95 - ... it in the orange-box with amazing rapidity, took a second and a third and a fourth as fast as his hands could move, and the feeders could supply him, until at length the chest was filled to overflowing, and was ready to be nailed up. Two men then handed it to the carpenter, who bent over the...
PÓgina 259 - And yet my eyes are filled with tears. With earnest feeling I shall pray For thee when I am far away ; For never saw I mien or face In which more plainly I could trace Benignity and home-bred sense Ripening in perfect innocence.
PÓgina 80 - Where simple sufferers bend, in trust To win a happier hour. I love, where spreads the village lawn, Upon some knee-worn cell to gaze : Hail to the firm unmoving cross, Aloft, where pines their branches toss ! And to the chapel far withdrawn, That lurks by lonely ways ! Where'er we roam, along the brink Of Rhine, or by the sweeping Po, Through Alpine vale, or champaign wide, Whate'er we look on, at our side Be Charity ! to bid us think, And feel, if we would know.
PÓgina 349 - Inscribed, as with the silence of the thought, Upon its bleak and visionary sides, The history of many a winter storm, Or obscure records of the path of fire.

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