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answered asked Azya Azya's Basia began blood Boski breast castle cavalry chambuls command Commonwealth Cossacks cried Crimea dear Dniester Dobrudja Doroshenko dragoons enemy eyes face father fear fell fire give gleaming God's sake grace haiduk hands head heard heart Henryk Sienkiewicz hetman horde horse Hotin Hreptyoff janissaries Jeremiah Curtin Kamenyets Ketling Ketling's kiss Kmita knew Krychinski Krysia lady Lithuanian Tartars little knight live looked Lusnia maiden Meanwhile Mellehovich Mohiloff Motovidlo murza mustaches noble once Pan Adam Pan Bogush Pan Michael Pan Mushalski Pan Novoveski Pan Sobieski Pan Zagloba Pani Makovetski Panna Podolia Polish quickly Rashkoff robbers Rushchyts rushed sabre seized shout side silence Snitko soldiers soul spahis spring squadron stanitsa starosta steppe Sultan tears tell terrible thought troops Tugai Bey Tugai Bey's Turkish Turks turned Ukraine voice Volodyovski waiting whole wild wish wonder Yampol young Zosia
Page 532 - THE DELUGE. An Historical Novel of Poland, Sweden, and Russia. By HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. Translated from the Polish by Jeremiah Curtin. A sequel to
Page 531 - Gazette. Such a writer as Sienkiewicz, the Polish novelist, whose works belong with the very best of their class, and who has a kind of Shakesperian freshness, virility, and power of characterization, is sufficient to give dignity to the literature of a whole generation in his own country. His three novels on the Wars of the Polish Commonwealth, and his superb psychological story, " Without Dogma," form a permanent addition to modern literature.
Page 482 - The night was in August, warm and fragrant. The moon illuminated the niche with a silver light; the faces of the little knight and Basia were bathed in its rays. Lower down, in the court of the castle, were groups of sleeping soldiers and the bodies of those slain during the cannonade; for there had been no time yet for their burial. The calm light of the moon crept over those bodies, as if that hermit of the sky wished to know who was sleeping from weariness merely, and who had fallen into the eternal...
Page 510 - Kamenyets, sorrow for the Commonwealth, ruined by the hands of the followers of the Crescent; and finally he finished his eulogy with this prayer: — " O Lord, they will turn churches into mosques, and chant the Koran in places where till this time the Gospel has been chanted. Thou hast cast us down, O Lord; thou hast turned thy face from us, and given us into the power of the foul Turk. Inscrutable are thy decrees; but who, O Lord, will resist the Turk now ? What armies will war with him on the...
Page 527 - Here ends this series of books, written in the course of a number of years and with no little toil, for the strengthening of hearts.
Page 509 - She repeated it because that beloved one had commanded her, for that was the last message which he had sent her ; but in that repetition and in those expressions were mere sounds, without substance, without truth, without meaning and solace. No; "This life is nothing" meant merely regret, darkness, despair, torpor, merely misfortune incurable, life beaten and broken, — an erroneous announcement that there was nothing above her, neither mercy nor hope ; that there was merely a desert, and it will...
Page 510 - Lord; thou hast turned thy face from us, and given us into the power of the foul Turk. Inscrutable are thy decrees; but who, O Lord, will resist the Turk now ? What armies will war with him on the boundaries ? Thou, from whom nothing in the world is concealed, — thou knowest best that there is nothing superior to our cavalry! What cavalry can move for thee, O Lord, as ours can ? Wilt thou set aside defenders behind whose shoulders all Christendom might glorify thy name? O kind Father, do not desert...
Page 220 - The horde seek in vain to escape singly ; in vain they circle around ; they rush to the right, to the left, to the front, to the rear ; the circle is closed up completely ; the robbers come therefore more closely together in spite of themselves.
Page 483 - ... of the slain. Their lanterns were gleaming on the place of combat like fireflies. Some of them called to one another; and one was singing in an undertone a sweet song not beseeming the work to which he was given at the moment : — " Nothing is silver, nothing is gold to me now, Nothing is fortune. Let me die at the fence, then, of hunger, If only near thee.
Page 507 - Lord, to endure this patiently; give her peace!" Ah! Ketling hastened, not waiting even till the troops had marched out; for at that moment the bastions quivered, an awful roar rent the air, bastions, towers, walls, horses, guns, living men, corpses, masses of earth, all torn upward with a flame, and mixed, pounded together, as it were, into one dreadful cartridge, flew toward the sky.