The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent, Volume 1J. Murray, 1822 - 393 pages |
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abbey ancient antiquity aunts Baron beauty Boar's Head bosom bride bustling castle chamber charms church cottage countenance Dame Van Winkle deep delight distant door dust earth Eastcheap elegant England English Falstaff fancy feelings flowers friends funeral gaze George Somers Gersau gloomy grave hand heard heart hour humble Jack Straw kind labour lady literary living London Stone looked Maid's Tragedy meditation melancholy ment mind mingled monument mountain nature neighbours never noble Odenwald once passed poem poet poetical poor pride quarto quiet Rip Van Winkle Robert Preston round rural sawtrie scene seat seemed seen sepulchre silent sleep solemn sorrow soul spectre spirit story strange stranger sweet tale tavern tender thing thought tion tomb tower trees turned village wandering Wat Tyler WESTMINSTER ABBEY Westminster School whole wife William Walworth window writers Wurtzburg young
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Page 66 - Rip Van Winkle ! Rip Van Winkle ! " At the same time Wolf bristled up his back, and giving a low growl, skulked to his master's side, looking fearfully down into the glen. Rip now felt a vague apprehension stealing over him ; he looked anxiously in the same direction, and perceived a strange figure slowly toiling up the rocks, and bending under the weight of something he carried on his back. He was surprised to see any human being in this lonely and unfrequented place ; but supposing it to be...
Page 277 - Lay a garland on my hearse, Of the dismal yew; Maidens, willow branches bear; Say I died true: My love was false, but I was firm From my hour of birth. Upon my buried body lie Lightly, gentle earth!
Page 79 - Here a general shout burst from the bystanders — "a tory! a tory! a spy! a refugee! hustle him! away with him!" It was with great difficulty that the self-important man in the cocked hat restored order; and having assumed a tenfold austerity of brow, demanded again of the unknown culprit, what he came there for, and whom he was seeking. The poor man humbly assured him that he meant no harm, but merely came there in search of some of his neighbors, who used to keep about the tavern. "Well — who...
Page 54 - WHOEVER has made a voyage up the Hudson must remember the Kaatskill mountains. They are a dismembered branch of the great Appalachian family, and are seen away to the west of the river, swelling up to a noble height, and lording it over the surrounding country.
Page 54 - When the weather is fair and settled, they are clothed in blue and purple, and print their bold outlines on the clear evening sky ; but sometimes, when the rest of the landscape is cloudless, they will gather a hood of gray vapors about their summits, which, in the last rays of the setting sun, will glow and light up like a crown of glory.
Page 55 - In that same village, and in one of these very houses (which, to tell the precise truth, was sadly time-worn and weather-beaten), there lived many years since, while the country was yet a province of Great Britain, a simple, good-natured fellow of the name of Rip Van Winkle. He was a descendant of the Van Winkles who figured so gallantly in the chivalrous days of Peter Stuyvesant, and accompanied him to the siege of Fort Christina.
Page 51 - CARTWRIGHT. [The following Tale was found among the papers of the late Diedrich Knickerbocker, an old gentleman of New York, who was very curious in the Dutch history of the province, and the manners of the descendants from its primitive settlers. His historical researches, however, did not lie so much among books as among men; for the former are lamentably scanty on his favorite topics; whereas he found the old burghers, and still more their wives, rich in that legendary lore, so invaluable to true...
Page 237 - Thou didst swear to me upon a parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in my Dolphin chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal fire, on Wednesday, in Whitsun week, when the prince broke thy head for liking his father to a singing-man of Windsor ; thou didst swear to me then, as I was washing thy wound, to marry me, and make me my lady, thy wife.
Page 280 - With fairest flowers, Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave : thou shalt not lack The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose ; nor The azured hare-bell, like thy veins ; no, nor The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweeten'd not thy breath...
Page 81 - The name of the child, the air of the mother, the tone of her voice, all awakened a train of recollections in his mind. ' ' What is your name, my good woman 1 '