they said; yes! Just where the woodlands met the flowery surf of the prairie. Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous tides of the ocean. Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy. Dreamlike, and indistinct, and strange were all things around them; And o'er their spirits there came a feeling of wonder and sadness,â. All her o'erburdened heart gave way, and she wept and lamented. Ran near the tops of the trees; but the house itself was in shadow, And from its chimney-top, ascending and slowly expanding. And of the goblin that came in the night to water the horses, And of the white Letiche, the ghost of a child who unchristened. Still stands the forest primeval; but under the shade of its branches. Nothing was dark but the sky, and the distant Delaware flowing. Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded the passionate outbreak, While they repeated his prayer, and said, "O Father, forgive them!". Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances. O lost days of delight, that are wasted in doubting and waiting! That the Angel of Death might see the sign, and pass over. Aloft, through the intricate archesOf its aerial roof, arose the chant of their vespers,Mingling its notes with the soft susurrus and sighs of the branches.Silent, with heads uncovered, the travellers, nearer approaching,Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the evening devotions.But when the service was done, and the benediction had fallenForth from the hands of the priest, like seed from the hands of the sower,Slowly the reverend man advanced to the strangers, and bade themWelcome; and when they replied, he smiled with benignant expression,Hearing the homelike sounds of his mother-tongue in the forest,And, with words of kindness, conducted them into his wigwam.There upon mats and skins they reposed, and on cakes of the maize-earFeasted, and slaked their thirst from the water-gourd of the teacher.Soon was their story told; and the priest with solemnity answered:â"Not six suns have risen and set since Gabriel, seatedOn this mat by my side, where now the maiden reposes,Told me this same sad tale then arose and continued his journey! No one spake, till at length a young man, a stranger, John Estaugh. How soon the night overtakes us!In the old country the twilight is longer; but here in the forestSuddenly comes the dark, with hardly a pause in its coming,Hardly a moment between the two lights, the day and the lamplight;Yet how grand is the winter! Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion. Sat, conversing together of past and present and future; While Evangeline stood like one entranced, for within her, Olden memories rose, and loud in the midst of the music, Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irrepressible sadness. ---------------------------------------------------------------. But when the morning dawned, and the sun uprose in his splendor. Fresh from the dairy, and then, protecting her hand with a holder. John did indeed win the Grammy. "The Beas' Knees." If the fates allow, let's start planning to make the 30th year something special. Date: Mon, February 15, 2021, 15:07:33 ETPosted by: M/O/D/P, Waxing Nostalgic, with a small jar of "Andrea" brand cold wax treatment. Date: Sat, March 20, 2021, 18:24:45 ETPosted by: Michael , Date: Thu, March 18, 2021, 10:28:30 ETPosted by: Phil , Pau, Date: Thu, March 18, 2021, 10:23:02 ETPosted by: Steve M , Scotland. Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into the chapel. Life had long been astir in the village, and clamorous labor. Early upon the morrow the march was resumed; and the Shawnee, Said, as they journeyed along,â"On the western slope of these mountains. Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned from the garrulous landlord. The newsletter and its content is independent of, nor to be confused with, the glorious and much more glamorous official newsletters from steelydanofficial com, sdarchive com, walterbecker com, walterbeckermedia com, donaldfagen com, and other sites of Steely Dan and associates. Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar with the dirges. Private Playlist: Aimee Mann looks past the snark to appreciate Steely Dan's craft, Aimee Mann like's Steely Dan, if not Snark Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for the horses. Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows; But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of their owners; There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance. Pierced with holes, and round, and roofed like the top of a lighthouse. Buy at: Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet existence. Was for a moment consoled. Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight undulations, Made by the passing oars, and, resplendent in beauty, the lotus. Reading Esaias the Prophet, he journeyed, and spake unto Philip. Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of the ocean. Darted a light, swift boat, that sped away o'er the water. Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch; and a staircase. Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, blew a blast on his bugle. we never have sworn them allegiance! Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the meadow. Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of an opening heaven. Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on their dwellings. Buy at: http://www.jonherington.com/store.html The BMA's are June 6, 2021. Tears then filled her eyes, and, eagerly running to meet him, Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his shoulder, and whispered,â, "Gabriel! Soon by the fairest of these their weary oars were suspended. Or the loud bellowing herds of buffaloes rush to the river. But, as they started, Elizabeth lingered a little, and leaning, Over her horseâs neck, in a whisper said to John Estaugh. Followed the old man's songs and united the fragments together. This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it, Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman. Much he teaches the people, and tells them of Mary and Jesus; Loud laugh their hearts with joy, and weep with pain, as they hear him. Perhaps the harvests in England. Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are blown from the embers. Maryâs ointment of spikenard, that filled all the house with its odor. On this mat by my side, where now the maiden reposes, Told me this same sad tale then arose and continued his journey!". Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the table. Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by the people. Date: Tue, March 9, 2021, 10:06:39 ETPosted by: Would you , Care to explain? Lighted the village street and gilded the vanes on the chimneys, Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles, Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden, Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors. thy God thus speaketh within thee!Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted;If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returningBack to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment;That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.Patience; accomplish thy labor; accomplish thy work of affection!Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike.Therefore accomplish thy labor of love, till the heart is made godlike,Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered more worthy of heaven! o'er the city a tempest rose; and the bolts of the thunderSmote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from its left handDown on the pavement below the clattering scales of the balance,And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a magpie,Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was inwoven. Suddenly out of the grass the long white horns of the cattle. Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not; and now dark doubts and misgivings. So came the autumn, and passed, and the winter,âyet Gabriel came not;Blossomed the opening spring, and the notes of the robin and bluebirdSounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet Gabriel came not.But on the breath of the summer winds a rumor was waftedSweeter than song of bird, or hue or odor of blossom.Far to the north and east, it said, in the Michigan forests,Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of the Saginaw River,And, with returning guides, that sought the lakes of St. Lawrence,Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline went from the Mission.When over weary ways, by long and perilous marches,She had attained at length the depths of the Michigan forests,Found she the hunter's lodge deserted and fallen to ruin! Still stands the forest primeval; but far away from its shadow,Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping.Under the humble walls of the little Catholic churchyard,In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and unnoticed.Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them,Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and forever,Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy,Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from their labors,Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed their journey! Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. All sounds were in harmony blended.Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in the farm-yards,Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of pigeons,All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, and the great sunLooked with the eye of love through the golden vapors around him;While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet and yellow,Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering tree of the forestFlashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned with mantles and jewels. Vainly he strove to rise; and Evangeline, kneeling beside him. Filled was Evangeline's heart with inexpressible sweetness. Lay in the stream, and along the wimpling waves of their margin. But on the shores meanwhile the evening fires had been kindled. Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed more abundant: For Evangeline stood among the guests of her father; Bright was her face with smiles, and words of welcome and gladness. Jon Herington's Arrangements for Guitar If one could only walk like a fly with oneâs feet on the ceiling. All the signs foretold a winter long and inclement. Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away into darkness. All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing. Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of the Saginaw River. In an attitude imploring,Hands upon his bosom crossed,Wondering, worshipping, adoring,Knelt the Monk in rapture lost.Lord, he thought, in heaven that reignest,Who am I, that thus thou deignestTo reveal thyself to me?Who am I, that from the centreOf thy glory thou shouldst enterThis poor cell, my guest to be? Having no other care than dispensing music to mortals. On the riverFell here and there through the branches a tremulous gleam of the moonlight,Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and devious spirit.Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers of the gardenPoured out their souls in odors, that were their prayers and confessionsUnto the night, as it went its way, like a silent Carthusian.Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with shadows and night-dews,Hung the heart of the maiden. Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the joy of our children?". Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in the farm-yards. This was their rural chapel. from his seat he had fallen, and stretched abroad on the sea-shore. Glowed with the light of love, as the skies and waters around her. Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed like a weird incantation. Poised it aloft in the air, and filled up the earthen teapot. Long within had been spread the snow-white cloth on the table; There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey fragrant with wild-flowers; There stood the tankard of ale, and the cheese fresh brought from the dairy; And, at the head of the board, the great arm-chair of the farmer. Laughing aloud at Joseph, then suddenly closing the casement. Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of the altar. But a celestial brightnessâa more ethereal beautyâ. Thronged erelong was the church with men. Lord of forests unfelled, and not a gleaner of fagots, Spreading its arms to embrace with inexhaustible bounty. That on the day before, with horses and guides and companions. Who have hearts as tender and true, and spirits as loyal? Level the landscape grew, and along the shores of the river. With a few blows of the axe are hewn and framed into houses. Then, with stamping of feet, the door was opened, and JosephEntered, bearing the lantern, and, carefully blowing the light out,Hung it up on its nail, and all sat down to their supper;For underneath that roof was no distinction of persons,But one family only, one heart, one hearth and one household. Floated before her eyes, and beckoned her on through the moonlight. Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking and sinking. Fragrant and thickly embowered with blossoming hedges of roses. Buy All Kinds of Stuff including "IN THE JAM: NYC Funk" 10 Multi-Track Video Jams--You Control The Mix" with Carlock/Jenkins/Buono Waited his late return; and they rested and feasted together. There the long-wandering bride shall be given again to her bridegroom. O my beloved!Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot behold thee?Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does not reach me?Ah! ------------------------------------------------------------- Such was the advent of autumn. Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities and hamlets. Once, as they sat by their evening fire, there silently enteredInto the little camp an Indian woman, whose featuresWore deep traces of sorrow, and patience as great as her sorrow.She was a Shawnee woman returning home to her people,From the far-off hunting-grounds of the cruel Camanches,Where her Canadian husband, a Coureur-des-Bois, had been murdered.Touched were their hearts at her story, and warmest and friendliest welcomeGave they, with words of cheer, and she sat and feasted among themOn the buffalo-meat and the venison cooked on the embers.But when their meal was done, and Basil and all his companions,Worn with the long day's march and the chase of the deer and the bison,Stretched themselves on the ground, and slept where the quivering fire-lightFlashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their forms wrapped up in their blanketsThen at the door of Evangeline's tent she sat and repeatedSlowly, with soft, low voice, and the charm of her Indian accent,All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and pains, and reverses.Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to know that anotherHapless heart like her own had loved and had been disappointed.Moved to the depths of her soul by pity and woman's compassion,Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had suffered was near her,She in turn related her love and all its disasters.Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when she had endedStill was mute; but at length, as if a mysterious horrorPassed through her brain, she spake, and repeated the tale of the Mowis;Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and wedded a maiden,But, when the morning came, arose and passed from the wigwam,Fading and melting away and dissolving into the sunshine,Till she beheld him no more, though she followed far into the forest.Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed like a weird incantation,Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was wooed by a phantom,That, through the pines o'er her father's lodge, in the hush of the twilight,Breathed like the evening wind, and whispered love to the maiden,Till she followed his green and waving plume through the forest,And nevermore returned, nor was seen again by her people.Silent with wonder and strange surprise, Evangeline listenedTo the soft flow of her magical words, till the region around herSeemed like enchanted ground, and her swarthy guest the enchantress.Slowly over the tops of the Ozark Mountains the moon rose,Lighting the little tent, and with a mysterious splendorTouching the sombre leaves, and embracing and filling the woodland.With a delicious sound the brook rushed by, and the branchesSwayed and sighed overhead in scarcely audible whispers.Filled with the thoughts of love was Evangeline's heart, but a secret,Subtile sense crept in of pain and indefinite terror,As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into the nest of the swallow.It was no earthly fear. 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