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Updated: May 13, 2025
Bill Marvel's stories were told over and over again, till the beginning and end dovetailed into each other, and were united for aye. Ned Ballad's songs were sung till the echoes lurked in the very tops, and nested in the bunts of the sails. My poor patience was clean gone. But, at last after some time sailing due westward we quitted the Line in high disgust; having seen there, no sign of a whale.
The circumstances of this immortal ballad's birth have been related with such fulness of detail by Wordsworth, and Coleridge's own references to them are so completely reconcilable with that account, that it must have required all De Quincey's consummate ingenuity as a mischief-maker to detect any discrepancy between the two.
Mother says they are not tidy, but I'd keep them neat, and I know you'd like it," broke in Merry, glad of the chance to get one of the long-desired wishes of her heart fulfilled. "I'll fetch you some next time I go over to Ballad's. Tell me what you want, and we'll have a posy bed somewhere round, see if we don't," said her father, dimly understanding what she wanted.
Foster's ballad form was extremely attenuated, but the melodic content filled it so completely that it seems to strain at the bounds and must be repeated and repeated to furnish full gratification to the ear. His form when compared with the modern ballad's amplitude seems like a Tanagra figurine beside a Michelangelo statue but the figurine is as fine in its scope as the statue is in the greater.
Foster's ballad form was extremely attenuated, but the melodic content filled it so completely that it seems to strain at the bounds and must be repeated and repeated to furnish full gratification to the ear. His form when compared with the modern ballad's amplitude seems like a Tanagra figurine beside a Michelangelo statue but the figurine is as fine in its scope as the statue is in the greater.
Not another girl in blessed Rhineland, and Bohemia to boot, dared say such words! than I can't repeat them! don't ask me! She's becoming a Frankish girl! 'What ballad's that? said Gottlieb, smiling. 'The Ballad of Holy Ottilia; and her lover was sold to darkness. And she loved him loved him 'As you love Siegfried, you little one?
Kilmeny did not have her slate with her and could not answer; but Eric guessed from something in her eyes that she was bitterly contrasting the beauty of the ballad's heroine with her own supposed ugliness. "Come down to the house, Kilmeny. I have something there to show you something lovelier than you have ever seen before," he said, with boyish pleasure shining in his eyes.
Not another girl in blessed Rhineland, and Bohemia to boot, dared say such words! than I can't repeat them! don't ask me! She's becoming a Frankish girl! 'What ballad's that? said Gottlieb, smiling. 'The Ballad of Holy Ottilia; and her lover was sold to darkness. And she loved him loved him 'As you love Siegfried, you little one?
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