Hvad folk siger - Skriv en anmeldelse
Vi har ikke fundet nogen anmeldelser de normale steder.
Andre udgaver - Se alle
Leaves, From The Records Of St. Hubert'S Club: Or Reminiscences Of Sporting ...
George E Bulger
Ingen forhåndsvisning - 2021
Leaves, From the Records of St. Hubert's Club: Or Reminiscences of Sporting ...
George Ernest Bulger
Ingen forhåndsvisning - 2015
American amongst animal appearance approach arrived Ashbrook banks beautiful began bird boat branches bright bushes called camp Canada CHAPTER clear close colour common considerable continued course covered dark deep direction distance ducks feet fire fish foot forest four Galway green Grouse hand hawks head heard height Henry hills hour huge hundred Indian island kind known Lake land latter leaving light look lovely means miles Moose morning mountain move nature nearly never night North o'clock once passed present rapid Raymond reached remained returned rise river rocks round Saint scarcely scene seemed seen shooting shore short shot side soon species sport started stream thousand took town trees turned usual village whole wild wind wing woods yards
Side 101 - FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The Rapids are near and the daylight's past.
Side 1 - I dream'd not then that, ere the rolling year Had fill'd its circle, I should wander here In musing awe ; should tread this wondrous world, See all its store of inland waters hurl'd In one vast volume down Niagara's steep, Or calm behold them, in transparent sleep, Where the blue hills of old Toronto shed Their evening shadows o'er Ontario's bed...
Side 256 - Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests; in all time, Calm or convulsed, — in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark heaving; — boundless, endless, and sublime. The image of eternity, the throne Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
Side 114 - How beautiful this night ! The balmiest sigh Which vernal Zephyrs breathe in Evening's ear Were discord to the speaking quietude That wraps this moveless scene. Heaven's ebon vault, Studded with stars unutterably bright, Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls, Seems like a canopy which Love has spread To curtain her sleeping world.
Side 33 - She struck where the white and fleecy waves Looked soft as carded wool, But the cruel rocks, they gored her side Like the horns of an angry bull.
Side 180 - Till the hives overflowed; and the Indian hunters asserted Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of the foxes. Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed that beautiful season, Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of All-Saints! Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of childhood.
Side 256 - Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests; in all time Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and sublime — The image of Eternity — the throne Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
Side 43 - My hawk is tired of perch and hood, My idle greyhound loathes his food, My horse is weary of his stall, And I am sick of captive thrall. I wish I were, as I have been, Hunting the hart in forest green, With bended bow and bloodhound free, For that's the life is meet for me.