Difference between revisions of "HPB-SB-3-79"
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| item = 1 | | item = 1 | ||
| type = poem | | type = poem | ||
− | | status = | + | | status = ok |
| continues = | | continues = | ||
| author = A.F. | | author = A.F. | ||
| title = The Ruined Cottage | | title = The Ruined Cottage | ||
− | | subtitle = New Hampshire Hills | + | | subtitle = (New Hampshire Hills) |
| untitled = | | untitled = | ||
− | | source title = | + | | source title = Harper's New Monthly Magazine |
− | | source details = | + | | source details = p.51 |
| publication date = | | publication date = | ||
| original date = | | original date = | ||
− | | notes = | + | | notes = Original text on [https://archive.org/stream/harpersnew51various#page/50/mode/2up Archive.org] |
| categories = | | categories = | ||
}} | }} | ||
− | ... | + | {{Style P-Poem|poem=At night-fall, coming through the wood. |
+ | : We reached a hill-top’s gloomy brow, | ||
+ | Where one unpainted cottage stood, | ||
+ | : Neglected, dark, and low. | ||
+ | |||
+ | No lamp announced a living soul; | ||
+ | : The chimney’s blue, reluctant thread | ||
+ | Alone betrayed a burning coal | ||
+ | : Of life where all seemed dead. | ||
+ | |||
+ | Until, observing curiously, | ||
+ | : And gazing back as on we went, | ||
+ | One little pale face we could see | ||
+ | : Close to the window bent. | ||
+ | |||
+ | When late we reached the village street. | ||
+ | : Cheerful and twinkling here and there, | ||
+ | The house-dog ran to lick our feet— | ||
+ | : Sweet was the household air! | ||
+ | |||
+ | Yet in my mind I saw all night | ||
+ | : That child’s face watching by the pane, | ||
+ | And passed once more that weary way, | ||
+ | : And lingered there again. | ||
+ | |||
+ | At dawn I rose, and walking forth, | ||
+ | : Met one who toiled upon the road, | ||
+ | Morning or evening nothing loath | ||
+ | : With talk to ease time’s load. | ||
+ | |||
+ | He knew the young man once, he said, | ||
+ | : Who brought his wife home to that farm ; | ||
+ | Now all his decency is dead, | ||
+ | : And devils round him swarm. | ||
+ | |||
+ | For he would drink when morning came, | ||
+ | : And drink before the noon was past, | ||
+ | And afternoons were all the same, | ||
+ | : Long as his means would last. | ||
+ | |||
+ | Master of numerous herds was he; | ||
+ | : All gone, his endless thirst to feed. | ||
+ | His wife—ah! weary days had she, | ||
+ | : And bitter grew her need. | ||
+ | |||
+ | Now she will have no trouble more ; | ||
+ | : Her griefs have all been laid to sleep ; | ||
+ | But devils round his chamber floor | ||
+ | : Their endless dances keep. | ||
+ | |||
+ | He hardly lifts his heavy head ; | ||
+ | : He lies in wretchedness all day ; | ||
+ | And when the night comes, it is said, | ||
+ | : Begins the devils’ play. | ||
+ | |||
+ | “Were there no children?” I inquired, | ||
+ | : And shuddered as I spoke the words, | ||
+ | While two young maidens, health-inspired, | ||
+ | : Went singing by like birds. | ||
+ | |||
+ | Ah, yes! Alas! one little girl. | ||
+ | : I wonder where the child is now ? | ||
+ | He, drowned in such a dreadful whirl, | ||
+ | : Can not much further go. | ||
+ | |||
+ | The morning sun was brave and gay, | ||
+ | : And birds were filling earth with song. | ||
+ | While still my heart repassed that way, | ||
+ | : That rocky hill of wrong. | ||
+ | |||
+ | Still sits the child beside the pane, | ||
+ | : And gazes on the clouded sky ; | ||
+ | Her solitude is mine again, | ||
+ | : And mine her agony. | ||
+ | {{Style P-Align right|A.F.}}}} | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
{{HPB-SB-item | {{HPB-SB-item | ||
| volume = 3 | | volume = 3 | ||
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| notes = | | notes = | ||
| categories = | | categories = | ||
− | | hide = | + | | hide = |
}} | }} | ||
− | |||
{{HPB-SB-item | {{HPB-SB-item | ||
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| page = 79 | | page = 79 | ||
| item =3 | | item =3 | ||
− | | type = | + | | type = image |
+ | | file = | ||
| status = wanted | | status = wanted | ||
− | |||
| author = | | author = | ||
− | | title | + | | title = |
− | + | | untitled = yes | |
− | | untitled = | + | | notes = Bay with many sailers парусник |
− | |||
− | |||
− | |||
− | |||
− | | notes = | ||
| categories = | | categories = | ||
+ | | hide = yes | ||
}} | }} | ||
− | |||
− | |||
{{HPB-SB-item | {{HPB-SB-item | ||
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| page = 79 | | page = 79 | ||
| item =4 | | item =4 | ||
− | | type = | + | | type = article |
− | |||
| status = wanted | | status = wanted | ||
+ | | continues = 80 | ||
| author = | | author = | ||
− | | title = | + | | title = Irdhi-Pada |
− | | untitled = | + | | subtitle = The “Divine Foot” or Power of Instant Locomotion Through the Air, from Place to Place |
− | | notes = | + | | untitled = |
+ | | source title = | ||
+ | | source details = | ||
+ | | publication date = | ||
+ | | original date = | ||
+ | | notes = From the London Spiritualist | ||
| categories = | | categories = | ||
− | |||
}} | }} | ||
+ | |||
+ | ... | ||
+ | {{Style S-HPB SB. Continues on | 3-80}} |
Revision as of 15:46, 21 January 2022
The Ruined Cottage
At night-fall, coming through the wood. A.F. |
Tip–Toed Figures Reach the Catch, Tiny Fingers Click the Latch
Irdhi-Pada
... <... continues on page 3-80 >
- ↑ The Ruined Cottage by A.F., Harper's New Monthly Magazine, p.51. Original text on Archive.org
- ↑ Tip–Toed Figures Reach the Catch, Tiny Fingers Click the Latch by unknown author
- ↑ image by unknown author. Bay with many sailers парусник
- ↑ Irdhi-Pada by unknown author. From the London Spiritualist