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Updated: May 15, 2025
What wonder, then, that he started for Europe a few weeks before his presence was needed in the imperial city, and that he steered his course directly toward the fjord valley where Bertha had her home? It was she who had bidden him Godspeed when he fled from the land of his birth, and she, too, should receive his first greeting on his return.
It has its birth on the great lone moor, cradled in a wonderful peat-smelling bog, with a many-hued coverlet of soft mosses pale gold, orange, emerald, tawny, olive and white, with the red stain of sun-dew and tufted cotton-grass. Under the old grey rocks which watch it rise, yellow-eyed tormantil stars the turf, and bids "Godspeed" to the little child of earth and sky.
It was not a subpoena; it was not a dun; it was a round-robin of farewells from a select circle of admirers, wishing us joy, Godspeed, success in art and literature, and a safe return at last. The wind blew fair; we were at liberty for an indefinite period. In forty minutes we struck another shore and another clime.
She had heard of it before she left home; but the thought that Roger might meet and fight against the young master whom he loved almost overcame her now, and she could hardly restrain her tears when the downcast-looking man ventured to say farewell as she was passing. "Farewell Roger, and Godspeed to you, and quickly bring this war to a close, and you back to us.
How he leaps! How he waves his sledge! He leads the savages toward the church. Oh! it's the end!" "Benny? Where's Benny?" cried Jim, hurriedly lacing the hunting coat he had flung about him. "Benny's safe. I've hidden him. I'll get him away from here," answered young Christy. "Go! Now's your time. Godspeed you!" "I'm ready," declared Mr. Wells. "I have finished!" "There goes Wingenund!
Without a friend to wish him a Godspeed the wretched man went on board the Southern packet, and in her dim lonely cabin sat silent and despondent, while she fought her way through swaying curtains of rain to the open sea.
With a few racial exceptions, Our Square was vehemently pro-Ally. In spirit we fought with valiant France and prayed for heroic Belgium. What a Godspeed we gave to the few sons of Gaul who, in those early days, left us to fight the good fight! How sourly we looked upon Plooie continuing his peaceful rounds.
On his way to luncheon he paused on the steps of the Thespian, trying to see it as a club and not as one of many places where Barbara had telephoned to him. . . . Manders, of course, insisted on a champagne luncheon to wish him Godspeed; at intervals he asked how long the tour was to be; and Eric wondered whether a suicide or a condemned man went through this recurrent sense of parting, recurrently spiced with surprise.
Undoubtedly those quick-witted players guessed what Hugh had in mind, and as it seemed to be the only possible chance to save the poor girl from her prison room, they one and all wished the courageous lads godspeed in their mission. Hugh felt considerably relieved when he discovered that it would be possible to gain the other roof from the main structure.
There was the summer song, the "Godspeed to those that go," the poignant Valete: "We shall watch you here in our peaceful cloister, Faring onward, some to renown, to fortune, Some to failure none if your hearts are loyal None to dishonour." To Gordon every word brought back with it a flood of memories.
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