Rob of the Bowl: A Legend of St. Inigoe's

J. B. Lippincott & Company, 1860 - 432 pages

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Page 7 - Along thy glades, a solitary guest, The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest; Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies, And tires their echoes with unvaried cries. Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all, And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall; And trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, Far, far away, thy children leave the land.
Page 321 - Tobacco's a Musician, And in a pipe delighteth ; It descends in a close, Through the organs of the nose, With a relish that inviteth.
Page 122 - Going to the Wars TELL me not, Sweet, I am unkind, That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast, and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True; a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such, As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
Page 230 - A Ranger, lady, winds his horn, And 'tis at peep of light; His blast is heard at merry morn, And mine at dead of night.
Page 70 - She wore a frock of frolic green, Might well become a maiden queen, Which seemly was to see: A hood to that so neat and fine In colour like the columbine, Ywrought full featously.
Page 63 - An old song, made by an aged old pate, Of an old worshipful gentleman who had a great estate, That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate, And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate...
Page 327 - Much victuals serves for gluttony, to fatten men like swine, ' But he's a frugal man indeed that with a leaf can dine, ' And needs no napkins for his hands his finger's ends to wipe, ' But keeps his kitchen in a box, and roast meat in a pipe.
Page 63 - She cast her weeds away, And to the palmy shore she hied, All in her best array. In sea-green silk so neatly clad, She there impatient stood ; The crew with wonder saw the lad Repel the foaming flood.
Page 14 - Furthermore, Kennedy described the roof as having been "capped by a wooden balustraded parapet, terminating, at each extremity, in a scroll like the head of a violin, and, in the middle, sustaining an entablature that rose to a summit on which was mounted a weathercock.
Page 361 - She turned her right and round about, And she swore by the moon ; I would not be your love, says she, For all the gold in Rome.

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