Three Years in California

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S. A. Rollo, 1859 - 456 Seiten

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Seite 180 - She was a Phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely Apparition sent To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair; Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful Dawn; A dancing Shape, an Image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay.
Seite 312 - There be three things which are too wonderful for me, yea, four which I know not: The way of an eagle in the air; the way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea; and the way of a man with a maid.
Seite 273 - Fly fishing may be a very pleasant amusement ; but angling or float fishing, I can only compare to a stick and a string, with a worm at one end, and a, fool at the other.
Seite 88 - From the moist meadow to the wither'd hill, Led by the breeze, the vivid verdure runs, And swells, and deepens, to the cherish'd eye. The hawthorn whitens; and the juicy groves Put forth their buds, unfolding by degrees, Till the whole leafy forest stands display'd In full luxuriance to the sighing gales; Where the deer rustle through the twining brake, And the birds sing conceal'd.
Seite 244 - Our town was startled out of its quiet dreams to-day, by the announcement that gold had been discovered on the American Fork. The men wondered and talked, and the women too ; but neither believed. The sibyls were less skeptical ; they said the moon had, for several nights, appeared not more than a cable's length from the earth ; that a white raven had been seen playing with an infant ; and that an owl had rung the church bells.
Seite 34 - The press was old enough to be preserved as a curiosity; the mice had burrowed in the balls; there were no rules, no leads; and the types were rusty and all in pi. It was only by scouring that the letters could be made to show their faces. A sheet or two of tin were procured, and these with a jack-knife were cut into rules and leads.
Seite 249 - Husband and wife were both packing up; the blacksmith dropped his hammer, the carpenter his plane, the mason his trowel, the farmer his sickle, the baker his loaf, and the tapster his bottle. All were off for the mines, some on horses, some on carts, and some on crutches, and one went in a litter.
Seite 109 - twere a lot too blessed For ever in thy coloured shades to stray ; Amid the kisses of the soft south-west To rove and dream for aye ; And leave the vain low strife That makes men mad — the tug for wealth and power, The passions and the cares that wither life, And waste its little hour.
Seite 142 - As the wild air stirs and sways The tree-swung cradle of a child, So the breath of these rude days Rocks the year : — be calm and mild, Trembling hours, she will arise With new love within her eyes.

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