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| + | == The+Lady+From+The+Sea 70 == | ||
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| + | profile. He never looks at me, only he is there. Wangel. How do you think he looks? Ellida. Exactly as when I saw him last. Wangel. Ten years ago? Ellida. Yes; out there at Bratthammeren. Most distinctly of all I see his breastpin, with a large bluish-white pearl in it. The pearl is like a dead fish's eye, and it seems to glare at me. Wangel. Good God! You are more ill than I thought. More ill than you yourself know,<p></p><p></p><p></p>, Ellida. Ellida. Yes,<p> </p>, yes! Help me if you can, for I feel how it is drawing closer and more close. Wangel. And you have gone about in this state three whole years, bearing for yourself this secret suffering,<p></p><p>louis vuitton outlet</p><p></p>, without confiding in me. Ellida. But I could not; not till it became necessary for your own sake. If I had confided in you I should also have had to confide to you the unutterable. Wangel. Unutterable? Ellida. No, no, no! Do not ask. Only one thing, nothing more. Wangel, when shall we understand that mystery of the boy's eyes? Wangel. My dear love, Ellida, I assure you it was only your own fancy | ||
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| + | == Moorish+Literature 75 == | ||
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| + | life among the dead. "I would not deign with falsehood's stain my lineage to betray; Tho' for the truth my life, in sooth, should be the price I pay. I am son and squire of a Moorish sire, who with the Christians strove,?And the captive dame of Christian name was his fair wedded love; And I a child from that mother mild, who taught me at her knee Was ever told to be true and bold with a tongue that was frank and free,?That the liar's art and the caitiff heart would lead to the house of doom;?And still I must hear my mother dear, for she speaks to me from the tomb.?Then give me my task, O King, and ask what question thou mayst choose;?I will give to you the word that is true, for why should I refuse?" "I give you grace for your open face, and the courteous words you use.?What castles are those on the hill where grows the palm-tree and the pine??They are so high that they touch the sky, and with gold their pinnacles shine."?"In the sunset's fire there glisten, sire, Alhambra's tinted tiles; And somewhat lower Alijire's tower upon the vega smiles,?And many a band of subtile hand has wrought its pillared aisles. The Moor whose thought and genius wrought those works for many moons Received each day a princely pay--five hundred gold doubloons-- Each day he left his labor deft, his guerdon was denied;?Nor less he lost than his labor cost when he his hand applied. And yonder I see the Generalif锟斤拷 with its orchard green and wide; There are growing there the apple and pear that are Granada's pride. There shadows fall from the soaring wall of high Bermeja's tower; It has nourished long as a castle strong, the seat of the Soldan's power."?The King had bent and his ear had lent to the words the warrior spoke,?And at last he said, as he raised his head before the crowd of folk: "I would take thee now with a faithful vow, Granada for my bride, King Juan's Queen would hold, I ween,<p></p>, a throne and crown of pride; That very hour I would give thee dower that well would suit thy will;?Cordova's town should be thine own, and the mosque of proud Seville. Nay, ask not, King,<p></p><p></p><p></p>, for I wear the ring of a faithful wife and true; Some graceful maid or a widow arrayed in her weeds is the wife for you,?And close I cling to the Moorish King who holds me to his breast, For well I ween it can be seen that of all he loves me best."<br>ABENAMAR'S JEALOUSY<br>Alhambra's bell had not yet pealed?Its morning note o'er tower and field;?Barmeja's bastions glittered bright,<p></p><p>/</p><p></p>,?O'ersilvered with the morning light;?When rising from a pallet blest?With no refreshing dews of rest,?For slumber had relinquished there?His place to solitary care,?Brave Abenamar pondered deep?How lovers must surrender sleep.?And when he saw the morning rise,?While sleep still sealed Daraja's eyes,?Amid his tears, to soothe his pain,?He sang this melancholy strain:?"The morn is up,?The heavens alight,?My jealous soul?Still owns the sway of night.?Thro' all the night I wept forlorn,?Awaiting anxiously the morn;?And tho' no sunlight strikes on me,?My bosom burns with jealousy.?The twinkling starlets disappear;?Their radiance made my sorrow clear;?The sun has vanished from my sight,?Turned | ||
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| + | == The+International+Weekly+Miscellany+-+Volume+I%2c+No.+4 150 == | ||
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| + | is the very highest praise that can be given to half-civilized as well as to civilized people. They are a bold, energetic, and industrious race. Every hour of weather fit for out-door work is spent in fishing and hunting, and preparing food for the winter. In the light sledge, or on skates, with nets and spears, they labored at each of these employments in its season. Toward the end of the long winter, just as famine and starvation threaten the whole population,<p></p><p>louis vuitton outlet</p><p></p>, a perfect cloud of swans, and geese, and ducks, and snipes, pour in; and man and woman, boy and girl, all rush forth to the hunt. The fish come in next, as the ice breaks; and presently the time for the reindeer hunt comes round. Every minute of the summer season is consumed in laying in a stock of all these aliments for a long and dreary season, when nothing can be caught. The women collect herbs and roots. As the summer is just about to end, the herrings appear in shoals, and a new source of subsistence is opened up,<p></p><p></p><p></p>, Later still,<p></p>, they fish by opening | ||
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