Waverly Novels: Quentin Durward. St. Ronan's well

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R. Cadell, 1845
 

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Page 563 - Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And while the bubbling and loud hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
Page 434 - His conduct might have made him styled A father, and the nymph his child. That innocent delight he took To see the virgin mind her book, Was but the master's secret joy In school to hear the finest boy.
Page 24 - Look here, upon this picture, and on this, The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. See what a grace was seated on this brow; Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself; An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; A station like the herald Mercury...
Page 100 - I was all ear, !(« And took in strains that might create a soul Under the ribs of Death.
Page 299 - The wretch condemn'd with life to part, Still, still, on hope relies, And every pang that rends the heart Bids expectation rise. ' Hope, like the glimmering taper's light Adorns and cheers the way ; And still, as darker grows the night. Emits a brighter ray.
Page 9 - Insensé, qui ne voit pas que sa cruauté, à laquelle il se confie, le fera périr! Quelqu'un de ses domestiques, aussi défiant que lui, se hâtera de délivrer le monde de ce monstre.
Page 72 - In short, they were the most poor miserable creatures that had ever been seen in France ; and, notwithstanding their poverty, there were among them women who, by looking into people's hands, told their fortunes, and, what was worse, they picked people's pockets of their money, and got it into their own, by telling these things through airy magic, et caetera.
Page 145 - I am as free as nature first made man, Ere the base laws of servitude began, When wild in woods the noble savage ran.
Page 9 - Dieux, pour le confondre, l'accablent de trésors dont il n'ose jouir. Ce qu'il cherche pour être heureux est précisément ce qui l'empêche de l'être. Б regrette tout ce qu'il donne, et craint toujours de perdre; il se tourmente pour gagner. " On ne le voit presque jamais ; il est seul, triste, abattu, au fond de son palais ; ses amis mêmes n'osent l'aborder, de peur de lui devenir suspects.

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