The Wing-and-wing, Or, Le Feu-follet: A Tale, Volumes 1-2

Front Cover
 

What people are saying - Write a review

We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.

Selected pages

Other editions - View all

Common terms and phrases

Popular passages

Page 7 - Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, from afar, Comes down upon the waters ; all its hues, From the rich sunset to the rising star, Their magical variety diffuse : And now they change ; a paler shadow strews Its mantle o'er the mountains ; parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new color as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till — 'tis gone — and all is gray.
Page 162 - His back against a rock he bore, And firmly placed his foot before : — "Come one, come all ! this rock shall fly From its firm base as soon as I.
Page 125 - And chiefly thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer Before all temples the upright heart and pure...
Page 172 - A justice of the peace, for the time being, They bow to, but may turn him out next year : They reverence their priest, but, disagreeing In price or creed, dismiss him without fear ; They have a natural talent for foreseeing And knowing all things ; and should PARK appear From his long tour in Africa, to show The Niger's source, they'd meet him with — "We know...
Page 187 - If ever you have looked on better days, If ever been where bells have knolled to church, If ever sat at any good man's feast, If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied, Let gentleness my strong enforcement be : In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.
Page 150 - Wearied, I fell asleep: but now lead on; In me is no delay; with thee to go Is to stay here; without thee here to stay Is to go hence unwilling; thou to me Art all things under heaven, all places thou, Who for my wilful crime art banished hence.
Page 85 - I have no dread, And feel the curse to have no natural fear, Nor fluttering throb, that beats with hopes or wishes, Or lurking love of something on the earth.
Page 218 - Sleep, sleep, thou sad one, on the sea ! The wash of waters lulls thee now ; His arm no more will pillow thee, Thy hand upon his brow. He is not near, to hush thee, or to save. The ground is his — the sea must be thy grave.

Bibliographic information