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Now and then I would swing my arms for warmth, and breathe on my fingers, that were sorely benumb'd; and all the while kept my ears on the alert, but heard nothing. 'Twas, as I said, something over two hours after, that I felt a soft cold touch, and then another, like kisses on my forehead. I put up my hand, and looked up again at the sky.
There is mist on the mountain, and night on the vale, But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael. A stranger commanded it sunk on the land, It has frozen each heart, and benumb'd every hand! The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust, The bloodless claymore is but redden'd with rust; On the hill or the glen if a gun should appear, It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer.
'Tis in times past, that he who is shall reign With his good friends in peace now and again. No rash nor heady prince shall then rule crave, Each good will its arbitrement shall have; And the joy, promised of old as doom To the heaven's guests, shall in its beacon come. Then shall the breeding mares, that benumb'd were, Like royal palfreys ride triumphant there.
There is mist on the mountain, and night on the vale, But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael. A stranger commanded it sunk on the land, It has frozen each heart, and benumb'd every hand! The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust, The bloodless claymore is but redden'd with rust; On the hill or the glen if a gun should appear, It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer.
Bridget stood perdue within, with her finger and her thumb upon the latch, benumb'd with expectation; and Mrs. Wadman, with an eye ready to be deflowered again, sat breathless behind the window-curtain of her bed-chamber, watching their approach. Trim! said my uncle Toby but as he articulated the word, the minute expired, and Trim let fall the rapper.
There is mist on the mountain, and night on the vale, But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael. A stranger commanded it sunk on the land, It has frozen each heart, and benumb'd every hand! The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust, The bloodless claymore is but redden'd with rust; On the hill or the glen if a gun should appear, It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer.
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