Surf: A Summer Pilgrimage

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Fords, Howard, & Hulbert, 1881 - 218 páginas
 

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Página 63 - Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast, And in a little while our lips are dumb. Let us alone. What is it that will last ? All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful Past. Let us alone. What pleasure can we have To war with evil? Is there any peace In ever climbing up the climbing wave? All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave In silence ; ripen, fall and cease : Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease.
Página 117 - THEY made her a grave too cold and damp For a soul so warm and true ; And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp,' Where, all night long, by a fire-fly lamp, She paddles her white canoe.
Página 137 - Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices In their woe ; Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began.
Página 99 - To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath: " Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue, Unknightly, traitor-hearted! Woe is me!
Página 118 - Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds— His path was rugged and sore, Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, Through many a fen, where the serpent feeds, And man never trod before. And, when on the earth he sunk to sleep, If slumber his eyelids knew, He lay, where the deadly vine doth weep Its venomous tear and nightly steep The flesh with blistering dew!
Página 119 - Oh ! when shall I see the dusky Lake, And the white canoe of my dear?" He saw the Lake, and a meteor bright Quick over its surface played — "Welcome," he said, "my dear one's light!
Página 105 - Why Should I Weep, wail, or sigh ? What if luck has passed me by ? What if my hopes are dead, — My pleasures fled ? Have I not still My fill Of right good cheer, — Cigars...
Página 109 - She now compounds for winning ways By morals of the sternest, Methinks the lays of nowadays Are painfully in earnest. When Wisdom halts, I humbly try To make the most of Folly: If Pallas be unwilling, I Prefer to flirt with Polly; To quit the goddess for the maid Seems low in lofty musers; But Pallas is a lofty jade— And beggars can't be choosers. I do not wish to see the slaves Of party, stirring passion, Or psalms quite superseding staves, Or piety "the fashion.
Página 46 - In the afternoon they came unto a land In which it seemed always afternoon. All round the coast the languid air did swoon, Breathing like one that hath a, weary dream. Full-faced above the valley stood the moon ; And like a downward smoke, the slender stream Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem. A land of streams ! some, like a downward smoke, Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go; And some thro...

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