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Updated: June 21, 2025
Every boat, and every article which could serve as a boat, were eagerly seized upon. Every house was inundated; even the grave-yards gave up their dead. The living infant in his cradle, and the long-buried corpse in his coffin, floated side by side. The ancient flood seemed about to be renewed.
I love all times and seasons each in its turn, and am apt, perhaps, to think the present one the best; but past or coming I always love this peaceful time of night, when long-buried thoughts, favoured by the gloom and silence, steal from their graves, and haunt the scenes of faded happiness and hope.
Longfellow makes the wraith of the long-buried exile of the armor appear and tell his story: He was a viking who loved the daughter of King Hildebrand, and as royal consent to their union was withheld he made off with the girl, hotly followed by the king and seventy horsemen.
She was greatly surprised when she saw him take from the cigar box a much soiled, yellowish-looking letter, and she could not help feeling that in some way it concerned herself. Suddenly appearing, she startled Rondeau by saying, "What are you doing? Whose is that? Give it to me." Rondeau was anxious to conceal from her his long-buried treasure, and he passed her the other.
Through all the anarchy of that fearful period; through the scarce less sanguinary time of the Directory; through the long, dreary oppression of the consulate; and now, in the more grinding tyranny of the Empire, he hopes, ay, still hopes on, that the day will come when from the hands of the king himself he shall receive his long-buried rank, and stand forth a De Gency.
It is indeed not a little of an anomaly. They are redolent of M. Montégut's pessimism. "The reality of sin, the pervasiveness of evil," says Mr. Lathrop, "had been but slightly insisted upon in the earlier tales: in this series the idea bursts up like a long-buried fire, with earth-shaking strength, and the pits of hell seem yawning beneath us."
Did she remember some long-buried love, and the child left to perish upon the steps of St. Jean le Rond, but grown up to be her secret pride in the person of the great mathematician and philosopher d'Alembert?
But the momentary contact had aroused within Tario all the long-buried passions of his loveless existence. With a muffled cry he sprang upon her, throwing his arms about her and attempting to drag her lips to his. "Woman!" he cried. "Lovely woman! Tario would make you queen of Lothar. Listen to me! Listen to the love of the last jeddaks of Barsoom."
It was almost a relief, in the midst of all the chaos, to have this settled line of action around which no doubt must linger. Yes, she would instantly break off her engagement. Now she turned her thoughts to her two former facts. Her father was guilty. Her father was dying. She, in an underhand way, for which even now she hated herself had discovered her father's long-buried crime.
Possibly they will have to resurrect the long-buried idea of torture. The people in the streets are laughing and chatting. Indeed, there is gaiety in the air as well as sunshine, and no person seems to care that men are being shot every other minute, or bayoneted, or blown into scraps or burned into cinders. These things are happening, nevertheless, but much of their importance has vanished.
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