The wreckers, by the author of 'Smugglers and foresters'. by R.M. Kettle

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Ward, Lock, and Company, 1880 - 402 Seiten
 

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Inhalt

XI
121
XIII
138
XV
151
XVI
167
XVII
176
XXXV
341
XXXVI
351
XXXVII
359
XXXVIII
374
XL
396

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Beliebte Passagen

Seite 143 - But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
Seite 130 - IN Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree : Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round : And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ; And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
Seite 151 - There was a listening fear in her regard, As if calamity had but begun; As if the vanward clouds of evil days Had spent their malice, and the sullen rear Was with its stored thunder labouring up.
Seite 359 - Alas ! alas ! Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once ; And He, that might the vantage best have took, Found out the remedy : How would you be, If he, which is the top of judgment, should But judge you as you are ? O, think on that ; And mercy then will breathe within your lips. Like man new made.
Seite 138 - The shadow of the dome of pleasure Floated midway on the waves; Where was heard the mingled measure From the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
Seite 193 - The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks: The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Seite 186 - The very tones in which we spake Had something strange, I could but mark ; The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark. Oft died the words upon our lips, As, suddenly, from out the fire Built of the wreck of stranded ships, The flames would leap and then expire. And, as their splendour flashed and failed, We thought of wrecks upon the main, — Of ships dismasted, that were hailed And sent no answer back again.

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