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In Moore's "Rhymes on the Road," the poet, speaking of Alpine scenery, alludes to the story of Atalanta and Hippomenes thus: "Even here, in this region of wonders, I find That light-footed Fancy leaves Truth far behind, Or at least, like Hippomenes, turns her astray By the golden illusions he flings in her way." Hercules was the son of Jupiter and Alcmena.
Pedgift; how nice it was of you to bring your concertina! I wonder if I could accompany you on the piano? I would so like to try. Oh, yes, Mr. Armadale, no doubt you meant to do something musical, too, and I dare say you sing very well when you know the words; but, to tell you the truth, I always did, and always shall, hate Moore's Melodies!"
Johnston, as they went along, "of the burning of Moore's stable and horses, the night before last. The fact is, that the magistrates of the county are endeavoring to get the incendiaries, and would render a service to any person capable, either directly or indirectly, of facilitating the object, or stumbling on a clew to the transaction."
"No; think he is perhaps the cheapest nigger that was ever bought." To put any more questions would have been impertinent, and I possessed my curiosity in silence till we reached the plantation. Here Moore's conduct became decidedly eccentric.
His first opera, 'The Veiled Prophet, was originally performed at Hanover in 1881, but was not actually heard in London until it was produced at Covent Garden in 1894. The libretto, an admirable condensation of Moore's well-known poem from the pen of Mr. W. Barclay Squire, gave the composer ample opportunities for picturesque and dramatic effect.
"The whirligig of time brings in its revenges," and it was the last thing in the world Mark Frettlby would have thought of seeing: Rosanna Moore's child, whom he fancied dead, under the same roof as his daughter Madge. On receiving Madge's message Sal came to the drawing room, and the two were soon chatting amicably together. The room was almost in darkness, only one lamp being lighted, Mr.
The second that he looked into that woman's eyes taught him her character, absolutely, as finally as if he had grown up with her. One could trust her to the last ditch, he thought. She walked straight up to the cart. "I am the nurse sent for by Dr. Hitchcock. Are you Mr. Moore?" "I am Mrs. Moore's brother Mr. Belden," he explained. "Have you your checks?"
With this man I went to the major, and as a result we all met later in the day at Mr. Moore's door. This gentleman looked startled enough when he saw the number and character of his visitors; but his grand air did not forsake him and his welcome was both dignified and cordial. But I did not like the way his eye rested on me.
In the afternoon Major Trenton, Captain Crozier and some other soldier officers rode up, as was customary with them on Sundays, and Ruth and Denham brought them brandy and water on the front verandah, where they awaited my mother and sisters. 'Harry, you young rascal, said Major Trenton, presently to my eldest brother, 'what did you do with Mr Moore's picture of the parson, eh?
Who would guess either that Moore's little song was modelled on one written even earlier than the date of our story? "As o'er her loom the Lesbian maid In love-sick languor hung her head. Unknowing where her fingers stray'd, She weeping turned away and said, Oh, my sweet mother, 'tis in vain, I cannot weave as once I wove; So wilder'd is my heart and brain With thinking of that youth I love."
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