Rob of the Bowl: A Legend of St. Inigoe's

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J.B. Lippincott & Company, 1860 - Maryland - 432 pages

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Page 9 - And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain: No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way. Along thy glades, a solitary guest, The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest; Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies, And tires their echoes with unvaried cries. Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all, And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall; And trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, Far, far away, thy children leave the land.
Page 156 - TELL me not, sweet, I am unkind, — That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field ; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you, too, shall adore ; I could not love thee, dear, so much. Loved I not honour more.
Page 262 - A Ranger, lady, winds his horn, And 'tis at peep of light; His blast is heard at merry morn, And mine at dead of night.
Page 9 - Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, And desolation saddens all thy green: One only master grasps the whole domain, And half a tillage...
Page 373 - It is our op'ning day. Nor board nor garner own we now, Nor roof nor latched door, Nor kind mate, bound by holy vow To bless a good man's store...
Page 135 - Bell my wife she loves not strife, Yet she will lead me if she can ; And oft, to live a quiet life...
Page 65 - She cast her weeds away, And to the palmy shore she hied, All in her best array. In sea-green silk so neatly clad, She there impatient stood ; The crew with wonder saw the lad Repel the foaming flood.
Page 177 - Fellows, to mount a bank. Did your instructor In the dear tongues, never discourse to you Of the Italian mountebanks ? Per.
Page 72 - Which seemly was to see; A hood to that so neat and fine, In colour like the columbine, Ywrought full featously.
Page 17 - Nevertheless he was wholly correct when he described the "grassy court," shut in by a "sweep of wall," in front of the Castle. "Admission," he declared, "was gained through a heavy iron gate swung between square, stuccoed pillars, each of which was surmounted by a couchant lion carved in stone."' No lions have yet come to light, but the brick footings of the courtyard enclosing wall and of the main gateway still survive solid just beneath the top soil. The portal was ten feet wide — wide enough...

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