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Arab argan oil Atlas Mountains basha Berbers Bewicke blue brown Cadour camel camp carried Ceuta Christian cloth colour dark desert divan donkey door European eyes face feddan feet fonda garden Gate Gibraltar ginns green tea grey Hadj Mukhtar haik half hand head hills horses inside jellab Jinan Dolero kaftans kaid kasbah Koran land live looked Marrakesh Mazagan Mellah miles Miss Banks missionaries Mogador Mohammed Mohammedan Moor Moorish morning Morocco City mosque mountains mules never night Omar once passed path patio prison rain Ramadhan ride Riff Riffi road rode round S'lam saddle saint-house servants shillings side sitting Slam slaves slippers Spanish steamer stone streets Sultan Tahara Tangier tents Tetuan thing tiled tribe turban turned village walked walls wind woman women yellow
Page 343 - But we are all travellers in what "John Bunyan calls the wilderness of this world, — all, too, travellers with a donkey; and the best that we find in our travels is an honest friend. He is a fortunate voyager who finds many. We travel, indeed, to find them. They are the end and the reward of life. They keep us worthy of ourselves; and when we are alone, we are only nearer to the absent.
Page 314 - WE who are old, old and gay, O so old! Thousands of years, thousands of years, If all were told: Give to these children, new from the world, Silence and love; And the long dew-dropping hours of the night, And the stars above : Give to these children, new from the world, Rest far from men. Is anything better, anything better? Tell us it then : Us who are old, old and gay, O so old ! Thousands of years, thousands of years, If all were told.
Page 178 - Rude lumps of clay; how they spin themselves up, by mere quick whirling, into beautiful circular dishes. And fancy the most assiduous Potter, but without his wheel, reduced to make dishes, or rather amorphous botches, by mere kneading and baking...
Page 354 - It's North you may run to the rime-ringed sun Or South to the blind Horn's hate; Or East all the way into Mississippi Bay, Or West to the Golden GateWhere the blindest bluffs hold good, dear lass, And the wildest tales are true, And the men bulk big on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail, And life runs large on the Long Trail— the trail that is always new.
Page 314 - ... of years, thousands of years If all were told : Give to these children, new from the world, Silence and love ; And the long dew-dropping hours of the night, And the stars above : Give to these children, new from the world, Rest far from men. Is anything better, anything better ? Tell us it then : Us who are old, old and gay : O so old ! Thousands of years, thousands of years, If all were told.
Page 181 - After a momentary silence spake Some Vessel of a more ungainly Make: "They sneer at me for leaning all awry: What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?
Page 107 - Verily I have fulfilled my mission. I have left that amongst you, a plain command, — the Book of God, and manifest ordinances, — which, if ye hold fast, ye shall never go astray.
Page 178 - ... rest and lie at ease, that would not work and spin! Of an idle unrevolving man the kindest Destiny, like the most assiduous Potter without wheel, can bake and knead nothing other than a botch; let her spend on him what expensive colouring, what gilding and enamelling she will, he is but a botch. Not a dish; no, a bulging, kneaded, crooked, shambling, squint-cornered, amorphous botch, — a mere enamelled vessel of dishonour! Let the idle think of this.