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The lines run as follows: "Behold, the puny Child of Man Sits by Time's boundless sea, And gathers in his feeble hand Drops of Eternity. "He overhears some broken words Of whispered mystery He writes them in a tiny book And calls it 'History!
Anjer, with all its beauties of scenery, is said to be unhealthy in the rainy season, when the showers and thunder-storms are both frequent and heavy: its natives are a puny race, and its European inhabitants look pale and sickly; so that, I suppose, it deserves the doubtful reputation generally given to it.
Mike flung himself at the Chief, literally snarling. His small fist hit the Chief's face and Mike was small but he was not puny. The "crack" of the impact was loud in the car. Haney grabbed. There was a moment's frenzied struggling. Then Mike was helplessly wrapped in Haney's arms, incoherent with fury and shame. "Crazy fool!" grunted the Chief, feeling his jaw. "What's the matter with you?
Still the two wanderers climbed on in the daylight. With their faces to the rocks they scarce saw night climb up behind them. But when Rodriguez looked up at the sky to see how much light was left, and met the calm gaze of the evening star, he saw that Night and the peaks were met together, and understood all at once how puny an intruder is man.
You cannot sway the will by anything but the heart; and when you can touch the deepest spring it moves the whole mass. You have seen some ponderous piece of machinery, which resists all attempts of a puny hand laid upon it to make it revolve. But down in one corner is a little hidden spring. Touch that and with majestic slowness and certainty the mighty mass turns.
This arrogant duke, without so much as a formal withdrawal, had ignored Duke Frederick's acceptance and had contracted his daughter's hand to the Dauphin of France, who was a puny, weak-minded boy of fourteen. Should Max and I go to Burgundy and say to Charles, "This is Maximilian of Styria, to whom you offered your daughter in marriage," his answer might be a sword thrust.
The anxiety was to invent and launch something that should float on to the generations to come, and carry the name of the builder and the fame of his generation. It was almost pathetic, these puny efforts, because faith always sprang afresh in the success of each new venture. Many of the vessels could scarcely be said to be launched at all; they sank like lead, close to the shore.
Only one person knew that he could laugh and play noisily, and this one was the beautiful woman at the long table, who knew not whether she should die of joy, or sink into the earth with shame. She had taken the year old infant from the basket. It was a pale, puny little creature, whose father had fallen in battle, and whose mother had deserted it.
Francis Hercules, Son of France, Duke of Alencon and Anjou, was at that time just twenty-eight years of age; yet not even his flatterers, or his "minions," of whom he had as regular a train as his royal brother, could claim for him the external graces of youth or of princely dignity. He was below the middle height, puny and ill-shaped.
Thin, pale, puny, he suffered from being so, and could not bear its being talked about. He was naturally pessimistic, no doubt inheriting it from his mother, and his pessimism was fed by his morbidity.
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