[Pppehrserver-users] urst out, attended

[Vissering]

O greet him when he comes. Think not I fear thine anger: this day, thou,
Lord of the silver bow, shalt bring a guest To sit in presence of the
equal Gods In your high hall: wheel but thy chariot near, That I may
mount beside thee! ----What is this? I hear the crackling hiss of singed
plumes! The stench of burning feathers stifles me! My loins are stung
with drops of molten wax!-- Ai! ai! my ruined vans!--I fall! I die! * *
* * * Ere the blue noon o'erspanned the bluer strait Which parts Icaria
from Samos, fell, Amid the silent wonder of the air, Fell with a shock
that startled the still wave, A shrivelled wreck of crisp, entangled
plumes, A head whence eagles' beaks had plucked the eyes, And clots of
wax, black limbs by eagles torn In falling: and a circling eagle
screamed Around that floating horror of the sea Derision, and above
Hyperion shone. * * * * * WALKER. I confess to knowledge of a large book
bearing the above title,--a title which is no less appropriate for this
brief, disrupted biographical memorandum. That I have a right to act as
I have done, in adopting it, will presently appear,--as well as that the
honored name thus appropriated by me refers neither io the dictionary
nor the _filibustero_, both of which articles appear to have been
superseded by newer and better things. At the first flush, Fur would
seem to be rather a sultry subject to open either a store or a story
with, in these glowing days of a justly incensed thermometer. And yet
there is a fine bracing mountain-air to be drawn from the material, as
with a spigot, if you will only favor your mind with a digression from
the tangible article to the wild-rose associations in which it is
enveloped. Think of the high, wind-swept ridges, among the clefts of
which are the only homesteads of the hardy pioneers by whose agency
alone one kind of luxury is kept up to the standard demand for it in the
great cities. It might not be so likely a place to get fancy drinks in
as Broome Street, certainly, we must admit, as we picture to ourselves
some brushy ravine in which the trapper has his irons cunningly set out
f
-------------- next part --------------
A non-text attachment was scrubbed...
Name: completing.jpg
Type: image/jpeg
Size: 15464 bytes
Desc: not available
Url : /pipermail/pppehrserver-users/attachments/20100114/08e2f720/attachment.jpg