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I tuk me rifle, av coorse, just for company, you know, but not to shoot, for I'm not bloodthirsty, by no means. Well, I hadn't bin long down whin a rustle in the laves towld me that somethin' was comin', an' sure enough down trotted a little deer as purty a thing as you could wish to see. It took a dhrink, tremblin' all the time, an' there was good cause, for another rustlin' was heard.
Ah, Buddha, if thy tale be true, Of still returning life, A monk may I be born anew, In valleys free from strife, A monk where Meggat winds and laves The lone St. Mary's of the Waves. Yarrow, which flows out of St. Mary's Loch was never a great favourite of mine, as far as fishing goes.
The Injuns use it fur their bowels, an' it has cured many a horse of pole evil that I seen meself. "An' Blue Cohosh, only I call that Spazzum-root. Thayer ain't nothin' like it fur spazzums took like tay; only fur that the Injun women wouldn't live in all their thrubles, but that's something that don't consarn ye. Luk now, how the laves is all spread out like wan wid spazzums.
You may take it for granted this castle was one of the finest, prettiest, most exquisite and most elaborate castles of our sweet Touraine, and laves itself in the Indre like a princely creature, gayly decked with pavilions and lace curtained windows, with fine weather-beaten soldiers on her vanes, turning whichever way the wind blows, as all soldiers do.
"Whoi, shure, by whittlin'. Larry's a howly terror to whittle, an' he gets a Blue Baitche sapling 'bout three inches thick an' starts a-whittlin" long slivers, but laves them on the sthick at wan end till thayer all round loike that." "What, like a fire-lighter?" "Yis, yis, that's it, only bigger, an Blue Baitche is terrible tough.
How dulce to vive occult to mortal eyes, Dorm on the herb with none to supervise, Carp the suave berries from the crescent vine, And bibe the flow from longicaudate kine! To me, alas! no verdurous visions come, Save yon exiguous pool's conferva-scum, No concave vast repeats the tender hue That laves my milk-jug with celestial blue! Me wretched!
To use his words, "They fall aff the shanty roof loike the laves aff the tthrees!" Somehow or other all these things go unremedied. It would, of course, be an admission that our work had been unsatisfactory, if we were to earnestly set about repairing the shanty, and thereby formally allow that it required such renovation. No one will dare to initiate such a serious thing.
How dulce to vive occult to mortal eyes, Dorm on the herb with none to supervise, Carp the suave berries from the crescent vine, And bibe the flow from longicaudate kine! To me, alas! no verdurous visions come, Save yon exiguous pool's conferva-scum, No concave vast repeats the tender hue That laves my milk-jug with celestial blue! Me wretched!
From July to October, at any moment, the sapphire skies may turn black with thunder-clouds; the Eden-like landscapes turned into scenes of ruin and desolation; the rippling ocean that lovingly laves their shores becomes a roaring monster trying to swallow them. The refreshing breezes that fan them become a destructive blast.
The Gulf Stream, emerging from the tropics thousands of miles away, constantly laves the shores, and consequently ice is not seen.
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