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I hope your lordship will say the same." "No I won't. I want my own will." "Well, that is to be had, my lord." "How?" "By taking his for yours, as the better of the two, which it must be every way." "That's all moonshine." "It is light, my lord." "Well, I don't mind confessing, if I am to die, I should prefer heaven to the other place; but I trust I have no chance of either.
Laughing boisterously, and mingling all their voices together in unceremonious talk, they now burst into the moonshine and narrow streaks of firelight that illuminated the open space before the lime-kiln. Bartram set the door ajar again, flooding the spot with light, that the whole company might get a fair view of Ethan Brand, and he of them.
But, on the other hand, it must be remembered that the voluminous Duchess of Newcastle, in her "Ode on Melancholy," describes among the symbols of hopeless gloom "the still moonshine night" and "a mill where rushing waters run about," the sweetest natural images. So woman has not so much to claim, after all.
And she closed her arms as if in an embrace and put her head down as though on the warm breast of an old friend and the good tears ran down her cheeks. All the windows were open. The air was warm and scented. There was no sound. The silent voices of the stars sang their nightly anthem. The earth was white with magic moonshine. Joan looked out.
He strolled from arbour to arbour, threw himself down on the sea-shore, and watched the play of the waves as they sparkled in the moonshine. "Four years ago," said he, with a sigh, "just such a heavenly evening was it, that I stole from Valeria's lips the first kiss, and heard from Valeria's lips for the first time the avowal that she loved me."
Out into the moonshine sauntered a slight figure, all in white, yachting cap on head, lighted cigarette in hand. The man came out from the black vine-screen, and, for a second, stood there, as if glancing carelessly about him. Milo Standish shouted again, at the top of his lungs. And this time, Claire's voice, like a silver bugle, rang out with his in that cry of warning.
"When I am 'somewhere in France," said Walter, looking around him with eager eyes on all the beauty his soul loved, "I shall remember these still, dewy, moon-drenched places. The balsam of the fir-trees; the peace of those white pools of moonshine; the 'strength of the hills' what a beautiful old Biblical phrase that is. Rilla!
I wanted them to come over to Sweden, but the old man was not inclined to take my advice. He does not go forward with the times, and that I do not like." Two will-o'-the-wisps came jumping in, one quicker than the other, so of course, one arrived first. "They are coming! they are coming!" he cried. "Give me my crown," said the elf king, "and let me stand in the moonshine."
The Marquis attacked me furiously, and therein lay his only chance; for a fierce, rude sword-play that is easily dealt with in broad daylight is vastly discomposing in such pale moonshine as lighted us.
It was a strange sight as we drew nearer and nearer. Before us, on the sea, there was a line where the cold silver of the moonshine met the lurid reflections of the fiery sky, and the same cool light and hot glow changed places over our cheeks as we turned our heads, and contrasted on the two sides of the sail of the jolly-boat. And then we got within earshot.
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