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arms arrows battle beautiful beheld brave breath Cæsar Captain of Plymouth Close cloud coming courage Covered danger dead death depart door drawing ended errand eyes face feeling feet Fields fight fire Flanders Flower forest fought friendship front Full garden give grave hand head hear heard heart hurry Indian John Alden land laughed leaped leaves letters light Long looked Lord loud maiden meadow Miles Standish mist nearer never o'er ocean once passed paused phrases Pilgrims Priscilla Puritan ready rock roof rose Round sacred sail savage secret seemed seen shouts silent smile soldier sound spake speak stood strong sudden sweet talking Thereupon answered thought tide Truly turned vanish village voice wall Wattawamat wind window woman women woods writing youth
Страница 26 - Full of the breath of the Lord, consoling and comforting many. Then, as he opened the door, he beheld the form of the maiden Seated beside her wheel, and the carded wool like a snow-drift Piled at her knee, her white hands feeding the ravenous spindle, While with her foot on the treadle she guided the wheel in its motion.
Страница 62 - Certainly you can forgive me for speaking so frankly, for saying What I ought not to have said, yet now I can never unsay it ; For there are moments in life, when the heart is so full of emotion, That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret, Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered together.
Страница 12 - Green above her is growing the field of wheat we have sown there. Better to hide from the Indian scouts the graves of our people, Lest they should count them and see how many already have perished ! " Sadly his face he averted, and strode up and down, and was thoughtful.
Страница 7 - In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims, To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling, Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather, Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Страница 18 - I cherished the thought, but never have dared to reveal it, Being a coward in this, though valiant enough for the most part. Go to the damsel Priscilla, the loveliest maiden of Plymouth, Say that a blunt old Captain, a man not of words but of actions, Offers his hand and his heart, the hand and heart of a soldier. Not in these words, you know, but this in short is my meaning ; I am a maker of war, and not a maker of phrases.
Страница 8 - Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic. Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron; Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already Flaked with patches of snow; as hedges sometimes in November.
Страница 67 - Let us, then, be what we are, and speak what we think, and in all things Keep ourselves loyal to truth, and the sacred professions of friendship.
Страница 19 - Truly the maxim is good, and I do not mean to gainsay it; But we must use it discreetly, and not waste powder for nothing. Now, as I said before, I was never a maker of phrases. I can march up to a fortress and summon the place to surrender, 170 But march up to a woman with such a proposal, I dare not.
Страница 24 - I have loved, and waited, and worshipped in silence? Was it for this I have followed the flying feet and the shadow Over the wintry sea, to the desolate shores of New England?