United States or Central African Republic ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Oh! give not these, ye pow'rs! I ask alone, As rapt I climb these dark romantic steeps, The elemental war, the billow's moan; I ask the still, sweet tear, that listening Fancy weeps! Unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. More needs she the divine, than the physician.
"Hugged in the clinging billow's clasp, From seaweed fringe to mountain heather, The British oak with rooted grasp Her slender handful holds together, With cliffs of white and bowers of green, And ocean narrowing to caress her, And hills and threaded streams between, Our little mother isle, God bless her!"
The masters came on board for their instructions; we passed but a melancholy evening of it, and next morning I took my last look of Santiago de Cuba. The Cruise of the Wave. The Action with the Slaver. 'O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea, Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, Far as the breeze can bear the billow's foam, Survey our empire, and behold our home.
In the Somme area the German front was held by the right wing of the Second Army, once Von Billow's, but now commanded by Otto von Below a brother of Fritz von Below commanding the Eighth Army in the east. The area of Von Below's army in the Somme region began south of Monchy, while the Sixth Army under the Crown Prince of Bavaria lay due north.
Hugged in the clinging billow's clasp, From sea-weed fringe to mountain heather, The British oak with rooted grasp Her slender handful holds together; With cliffs of white and bowers of green, And Ocean narrowing to caress her, And hills and threaded streams between, Our little mother isle, God bless her!
Hugged in the clinging billow's clasp, From sea-weed fringe to mountain heather, The British oak with rooted grasp Her slender handful holds together; With cliffs of white and bowers of green, And Ocean narrowing to caress her, And hills and threaded streams between, Our little mother isle, God bless her!
Hugged in the clinging billow's clasp, From sea-weed fringe to mountain heather, The British oak with rooted grasp Her slender handful holds together; With cliffs of white and bowers of green, And Ocean narrowing to caress her, And hills and threaded streams between, Our little mother isle, God bless her!
"But how do you bear it all?" you say to your Prussian friend, with whom you stand looking on at the base of Billow's statue. "Is not this enormous preparation for bloodshed something dreadful? Then the tax on the country to support it all, the withdrawing of such a multitude from the employments of peace." Your friend, who had been a soldier himself, would answer: "We bear it because we must.
Or sunbeams shone by many an Alpine fountain, Fed by the waters of the forest stream; Or glacier-glories in the rock-girt mountain, Where they so often fed the poet's dream; Or else was mingled the rough billow's glee With cries of petrels on a sullen sea.
The young mother stretched out her arms towards her, uttering a piteous cry. At that moment the ship rose on the billow's crest as if it were no heavier than a flake of the driving foam a crash followed it was gone, and the crew were left struggling in the sea. The struggle was short with most of them.
Word Of The Day