"Lords of the soil": a romance of Indian life among the early English settlers

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C. M. Clark publishing co., inc., 1905 - British Americans - 467 pages
 

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Page 418 - Sometime, we see a cloud that's dragonish, A vapour, sometime, like a bear, or lion, A tower'd citadel, a pendant rock, A forked mountain, or blue promontory With trees upon't, that nod unto the world, And mock our eyes with air: thou hast seen these signs; They are black vesper's pageants.
Page 163 - Twas thine own genius gave the final blow, And helped to plant the wound that laid thee low : So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart, And winged the shaft that quivered in his heart ; Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel ; While the same plumage that had warmed his nest Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast.
Page 360 - O but they say the tongues of dying men Enforce attention like deep harmony: Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain. For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain.
Page 307 - All that the mind would shrink from of excesses ; All that the body perpetrates of bad ; All that we read, hear, dream, of man's distresses ; All that the devil would do if run stark mad ; All that defies the worst which pen expresses ; All by which hell is peopled, or as sad As hell — mere mortals who their power abuse — Was here (as heretofore and since) let loose.
Page 352 - Again she plunges! hark! a second shock Tears her strong bottom on the marble rock. Down on the vale of death, with dismal cries, The fated victims shuddering...
Page 199 - CHAINED in the market-place he stood, A man of giant frame, Amid the gathering multitude That shrunk to hear his name — All stern of look and strong of limb, His dark eye on the ground : — And silently they gazed on him, As on a lion bound. Vainly, but well, that chief had fought, He was a captive now, Yet pride, that fortune humbles not, Was written on his brow. The scars his dark broad bosom wore, Showed warrior true and brave ; A prince among his tribe before, He could not be a slave.
Page 276 - For time at last sets all things even — And if we do but watch the hour, There never yet was human power Which could evade, if unforgiven, The patient search and vigil long Of him who treasures up a wrong.
Page 410 - 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.
Page 118 - I will go to my tent, and lie down in despair ; I will paint me with black, and will sever my hair ; I will sit on the shore, where the hurricane blows, And reveal to the god of the tempest my woes ; I will weep for a season, on bitterness fed, For my kindred are gone to the hills of the dead ; But they died not by hunger, or lingering decay ; The steel of the white man hath swept them away.
Page 370 - Nor custom, nor example, nor vast numbers Of such as do offend, make less the sin. For each particular crime a strict account Will be exacted ; and that comfort which The damn'd pretend, fellows in misery, Takes nothing from their torments: every one, Must suffer, in himself, the measure of His wickedness.

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