A Canyon Voyage: The Narrative of the Second Powell Expedition Down the Green-Colorado River from Wyoming, and the Explorations on Land, in the Years 1871 and 1872

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Putnam, 1908 - Colorado River (Colo.-Mexico) - 277 pages
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Page 275 - Jl Selection from the Catalogue of GP PUTNAM'S SONS Complete Catalogues sent on application Breaking the Wilderness The story of the Conquest of the Far West, from the Wanderings of Cabeza de Vaca to the first Descent of the Colorado by Powell, and the Completion of the Union Pacific Railway. With particular
Page 138 - Often I think of the beautiful town That is seated by the sea ; Often in thought go up and down The pleasant streets of that dear old town, And my youth comes back to me. And a verse of a Lapland song Is haunting my memory still: 'A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
Page 142 - Flow gently, sweet Afton! among thy green braes, Flow gently, I '11 sing thee a song in thy praise; My Mary "s asleep by thy murmuring stream— Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Page 97 - A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke, Slow dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go; And some thro' wavering lights and shadows broke, Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below. They saw the gleaming river seaward flow From the inner land; far off three mountain-tops, Three silent pinnacles of aged snow, Stood sunset-flushed; and, dew'd with showery drops, Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the
Page 73 - I will sing you a song of that beautiful land, The far away home of the soul, Where no storms ever beat on the glittering strand, While the years of eternity roll, While the years of eternity roll; Where no storms ever beat on the glittering strand While the years of eternity roll.
Page 73 - Where no storms ever beat on the glittering strand While the years of eternity roll. " Oh ! that home of the soul in my visions and dreams, Its bright jasper walls I can see ; Till I fancy but thinly the veil intervenes Between the fair city and me
Page 148 - We were not many—we who stood Before the iron sleet that day; Yet many a gallant spirit would Give half his years if but he could Have been with us at Monterey.
Page 172 - There was no burr of grasshopper No chirp of any bird, But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard.
Page 123 - Hurrying down to its grave, the sea, And slow through the rock its pathway hewing! Far down, through the mist of the falling river, Which rises up like an incense ever, The splintered points of the crags are seen, With water howling and vexed between, While the scooping whirl of the pool beneath Seems an open throat, with its granite teeth!
Page 138 - Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead!

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