Enoch Arden: &c

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Ticknor and Fields, 1865 - 227 pages
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Page 160 - Then didst thou grant mine asking with a smile, Like wealthy men who care not how they give. But thy strong Hours indignant work'd their wills, And beat me down and marr'd and wasted me, And tho...
Page 162 - The lucid outline forming round thee ; saw The dim curls kindle into sunny rings ; Changed with thy mystic change, and felt my blood...
Page 85 - Mastering the lawless science of our law, That codeless myriad of precedent, That wilderness of single instances, Thro' which a few, by wit or fortune led, May beat a pathway out to wealth and fame.
Page 8 - Here on this beach a hundred years ago, Three children of three houses, Annie Lee, The prettiest little damsel in the port, And Philip Ray, the miller's only son, And Enoch Arden, a rough sailor's lad Made orphan by a winter shipwreck, play'd Among the waste and lumber of the shore, Hard coils of cordage, swarthy fishing-nets, Anchors of rusty fluke, and boats up-drawn...
Page 120 - — it makes me sick to quote him — last Gript my hand hard, and with God-bless-you went. I stood like one that had received a blow: I found a hard friend in his loose accounts, A loose one in the hard grip of his hand, A curse in his God-bless-you: then my eyes Pursued him down the street, and far away, Among the honest shoulders of the crowd, Read rascal in the motions of his back, And scoundrel in the supple-sliding knee.
Page 13 - And slipt aside, and like a wounded life Crept down into the hollows of the wood ; There, while the rest were loud in merrymaking, Had his dark hour unseen, and rose and past Bearing a lifelong hunger in his heart.
Page 58 - But let me hold my purpose till I die. Sit down again ; mark me and understand, While I have power to speak. I charge you now. When you shall see her, tell her that I died Blessing her, praying for her, loving her; Save for the bar between us, loving her As when she laid her head beside my own. And tell my daughter Annie, whom I saw So like her mother, that my latest breath Was spent in blessing her and praying for her.
Page 7 - LONG lines of cliff breaking have left a chasm ; And in the chasm are foam and yellow sands; Beyond, red roofs about a narrow wharf In cluster ; then a moulder'd church ; and higher A long street climbs to one tall-towcr'd mill; And high in heaven behind it a gray down With Danish barrows ; and a hazelwood By autumn nutters haunted, flourishes Green in a cuplike hollow of the down.
Page 159 - THE woods decay, the woods decay and fall, The vapours weep their burthen to the ground, Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath, And after many a summer dies the swan.
Page 162 - Whispering I knew not what of wild and sweet, Like that strange song I heard Apollo sing, While Ilion like a mist rose into towers.

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