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abbey admiration antiquity aunts authors Baron beauty Boar's Head bosom bustling castle chamber character charms church cottage countenance crowd Dame Van Winkle deep delight distant door dust earth Eastcheap elegant England English Falstaff fancy feeling flowers funeral gaze George Somers Gersau gloomy grave hand heard heart hour Jack Straw kind labour literary living looked Maid's Tragedy meditation melancholy mind mingled monument mountain nature neighbouring ness never noble Odenwald once passed Peter Stuyvesant poem poet poetical poor pride quarto quiet recollection Rip Van Winkle Robert Preston ROBERT SOUTHEY romantic Roscoe round rural sawtrie scene seat seemed sepulchre silent solemn sorrow soul spectre spirit story strange stranger sweet tale tavern tender thought tomb tower travels trees verger village wandering Wat Tyler WESTMINSTER ABBEY whole wild William Walworth window writers Wurtzburg young
Page 115 - He had lived for his love, for his country he died, They were all that to life had entwined him ; Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, Nor long will his love stay behind him.
Page 64 - A tory! A tory! A spy! A refugee! Hustle him! Away with him!" It was with great difficulty that the self-important man in the cocked hat restored order; and, having assumed a tenfold austerity of brow, demanded again of the unknown culprit, what he came there for and whom he was seeking. The poor man humbly assured him that he meant no harm, but merely came there in search of some of his neighbors who used to keep about the tavern. "Well, who are they? Name them.
Page 49 - ... until there was little more left than a mere patch of Indian corn and potatoes, yet it was the worst conditioned farm in the neighborhood. His children, too, were as ragged and wild as if they belonged to nobody. His son Rip, an urchin begotten in his own likeness, promised to inherit the habits, with the old clothes of his father. He was generally seen trooping like a colt at his mother's heels...
Page 65 - There was a silence for a little while, when an old man replied, in a thin, piping voice, "Nicholas Vedder! why, he is dead and gone these eighteen years! There was a wooden tombstone in the churchyard that used to tell all about him, but that's rotten and gone too.
Page 45 - WHOEVER has made a voyage up the Hudson must remember the Kaatskill mountains. They are a dismembered branch of the great Appalachian family, and are seen away to the west of the river, swelling up to a noble height and lording it over the surrounding country.
Page 240 - ... if thou art a lover, and hast ever given one unmerited pang to that true heart which now lies cold and still beneath thy feet ; then be sure that every unkind look, every ungracious word, every ungentle action, will come thronging back upon thy memory, and knocking dolefully at thy soul...
Page 60 - He grieved to give up his dog and gun ; he dreaded to meet his wife ; but it would not do to starve among the mountains. He shook his head, shouldered the rusty firelock, and with a heart full of trouble and anxiety turned his steps homeward. As he approached the village he met a number of people, but none whom he knew, which somewhat surprised him, for he had thought himself acquainted with every one in the country round.
Page 51 - Vedder, a patriarch of the village, and landlord of the inn, at the door of which he took his seat from morning till night, just moving sufficiently to avoid the sun and keep in the shade of a large tree; so that the neighbors could tell the hour by his movements as accurately as by a sundial.
Page 71 - The old Dutch inhabitants, however, almost universally gave it full credit Even to this day they never hear a thunder-storm of a summer afternoon about the Kaatskill, but they say Hendrick Hudson and his crew are at their game of ninepins ; and it is a common wish of all hen-pecked husbands in the neighborhood, when life hangs heavy on their hands, that they might have a quieting draught out of Rip Van Winkle's flagon.
Page 60 - ... at the poor man's perplexities. What was to be done? The morning was passing away, and Rip felt famished for want of his breakfast. He grieved to give up his dog and gun ; he dreaded to meet his wife; but it would not do to starve among the mountains. He shook his head, shouldered the rusty firelock, and with a heart full of trouble and anxiety turned his steps homeward.