Crayon miscellany

Front Cover
George P. Putnam, 1849 - Astoria (Or.)
 

What people are saying - Write a review

We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.

Other editions - View all

Common terms and phrases

Popular passages

Page 335 - I saw him stand Before an Altar— with a gentle bride; Her face was fair, but was not that which made The Starlight of his Boyhood;— as he stood Even at the Altar, o'er his brow there came The self-same aspect, and the quivering shock That in the antique Oratory shook His bosom in its solitude; and then— As in that hour— a moment o'er his face The tablet of unutterable thoughts Was traced,— and then it faded as it came, And he stood calm and quiet, and he spoke The...
Page 208 - IF thou would'st view fair Melrose aright, Go visit it by the pale moon-light; For the gay beams of lightsome day Gild, but to flout, the ruins gray.
Page 326 - With a convulsion — then arose again, And with his teeth and quivering hands did tear What he had written, but he shed no tears. And he did calm himself, and fix his brow Into a kind of quiet ; as he paused, The lady of his love re-entered there ; She was serene and smiling then, and yet She knew she was by him beloved, — she knew, For quickly comes such knowledge, that his heart Was darken'd with her shadow, and she saw That he was wretched, but she saw not all.
Page 335 - Had wander'd from its dwelling, and her eyes They had not their own lustre, but the look Which is not of the earth; she was become The queen of a fantastic realm; her thoughts Were combinations of disjointed things; And forms impalpable and unperceived Of others
Page 334 - Upon her face there was the tint of grief, The settled shadow of an inward strife, And an unquiet drooping of the eye As if its lid were charged with unshed tears.
Page 352 - Streaming from off the sun like seraph's wings, Now yawns all desolate: now loud, now fainter, The gale sweeps through its fretwork, and oft sings The owl his anthem, where the silenced quire Lie with their hallelujahs quench'd like fire.
Page 239 - Her shirt was o' the grass-green silk, Her mantle o' the velvet fyne ; At ilka tett of her horse's mane, Hung fifty siller bells and nine. True Thomas, he...
Page 239 - At ilka tett of her horse's mane Hung fifty siller bells and nine.'" Here Scott repeated several of the stanzas and recounted the...
Page 45 - They are great mimics and buffoons, also, and entertain themselves excessively at the expense of the whites with whom they have associated, and who have supposed them impressed with profound respect for their grandeur and dignity. They are curious observers, noting every thing in silence, but with a keen and watchful eye ; occasionally exchanging a glance or a grunt with each other, when any thing particularly strikes them: but reserving all comments until they are alone. Then it is that they give...
Page 326 - Another ; even now she loved another, And on the summit of that hill she stood Looking afar if yet her lover's steed Kept pace with her expectancy, and flew.

Bibliographic information