The Hunting Grounds of the Old World: Asia. 1st series

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Longman, Green, Longman, Roberts & Green, 1865 - Hunting - 660 pages
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Page 379 - To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd.
Page 83 - Live you ? or are you aught That man may question ? You seem to understand me, By each at once her choppy finger laying Upon her skinny lips. — You should be women, And yet your beards forbid me to interpret That you are so.
Page 221 - Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, — The seasons...
Page 460 - They stood aloof, the scars remaining, Like cliffs which had been rent asunder ; A dreary sea now flows between: But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder, Shall wholly do away, I ween, The marks of that which once hath been.
Page 27 - Gul in her bloom; Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, And the voice of the nightingale never is mute; Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky, In...
Page 240 - It is no marvel — from my very birth My soul was drunk with love, which did pervade And mingle with whate'er I saw on earth ; Of objects all inanimate I made Idols, and out of wild and lonely flowers, And rocks, whereby they grew, a paradise, Where I did lay me down within the shade Of waving trees, and dream'd uncounted hours, Though I was chid for wandering...
Page 484 - Ye ice-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amain— Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge ! Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts! Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven Beneath the keen full moon ? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows ? Who, with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet ?— God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer ! and let the ice-plains echo...
Page 398 - But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still his master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonoured falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth: While man, vain insect!
Page 507 - Who has not heard of the Vale of Cashmere, With its roses the brightest that earth ever gave, Its temples, and grottos, and fountains as clear As the love-lighted eyes that hang over their wave? Oh! to see it at sunset, — when warm o'er the Lake Its splendour at parting a summer eve throws, Like a bride, full of blushes, when ling'ring to take A last look of her mirror at night ere she goes...
Page 117 - Why, what should be the fear ? I do not set my life at a pin's fee ; And for my soul, what can it do to that, Being a thing immortal as itself ? It waves me forth again : I'll follow it.

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