The Bothie

Front Cover
University of Queensland Press, 1976 - 137 pages
This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1848 Excerpt: ... glance, so regardless I, that although I felt it, You couldn't properly say oureyes met. She cast it, and left it: It was three minutes perhaps ere I knew what it was. I had seen her Somewhere before I am sure, but that wasn't it; not its import; No, it had seemed to regard me with simple superior insight, Quietly saying to itself--Yes, there he is still in his fancy, Letting drop from him at random as things not worth considering All the benefits gathered and put in his hands by fortune, Loosing a hold which others, content and unambitious, Trying down here to keep-up, know the value of better than he does. Was it this? was it perhaps ' ---Yes there he is still in his fancy, Doesn't yet see we have here just the things he is used-to elsewhere, And that the things he likes here, elsewhere he wouldn't have looked at, People here too are people, and not as fairy-land creatures; He is in a trance, and possessed; I wonder how long to continue; It is a shame and a pity--and no good likely to follow. Something like this, but indeed I cannot the least define it. Only, three hours thence I was off and away in the moorland, Hiding myself from myself if I could; the arrow Within me. Katie was not in the house, thank God: I saw her in passing, Saw her, unseen myself, with the pang of a cruel desertion, Poignant enough; which however but made me walk the faster, Like a terrible spur running into one's vitals, and through them, Turning me all into pain and sending me off, I suppose like One that is shot to the heart and leaps in the air in his dying. What dear Katie thinks, God knows; poor child; may she only Think me a fool and a madman, and no more worth her remembering. Meantime all through the mountains I tramp and know not whither, Tramp along he...

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Explanatory Notes 27
Textual Notes 49

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About the author (1976)

Arthur Hugh Clough was born on the first day of 1819 to James and Ann Clough in Liverpool, England. A poet who studied at Rugby and Oxford, Clough had radical political and religious beliefs. After going to France to support the revolution of 1848, Clough traveled to the United States hoping to obtain a position at Harvard. When that did not work out, Clough returned home and married Blanch Smith. Soon after, Clough spent much of his time helping his wife's cousin, Florence Nightingale, lobby for reform in hospitals and in the nursing profession. Throughout the 1850s, Clough worked on a translation of Plutarch's Lives and a large poem, Mari Magno. Clough died in Florence, Italy, on November 13, 1861, at the age of 42.

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