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Updated: May 12, 2025
If I had admired it the night before, I felt inclined to worship it this morning, as I saw the lofty buttresses and spires, fretted with all their gorgeous carving, and "storied windows richly dight," sleeping in the glare of the newly-risen sun, and throwing their long shadows due westward down the sloping lawn, and across the river which dimpled and gleamed below, till it was lost among the towering masses of crisp elms and rose-garlanded chestnuts in the rich gardens beyond.
As I passed on amid the shadowy avenues of the cemetery, I could not help comparing my own impressions with those which others have felt when walking alone among the dwellings of the dead. Are, then, the sculptured urn and storied monument nothing more than symbols of family pride?
In one of those swift rushes the mind makes in high-strung moments, I saw myself and Coralie, close enfolded, pacing the world together, o'er hill and plain, through storied cities, past rows of applauding relations, I in my Sunday knickerbockers, she in her pink and spangles.
I never knew before how many Magazines existed even those early days; we took some down at hazard and read names, dates, and initials. . . . Storied urn and monumental bust do not bring back the past as do the books which belong to it.
But then he left the eternal snows of the Dent-du-Midi all flushed with his light, and in the mean time he had glittered for five hours on the "bleu impossible" of the Lake of Geneva, and had shown in a hundred changing lights and shadows the storied and sentimentalized towers of the Castle of Chillon.
When will the founders of our American colleges and universities understand the vast educational value of surroundings like these, and especially of a "hall" in which students meet every day, beneath storied windows and the busts and portraits of the most eminent men in the history of science, literature, and public service?
No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay, 'No storied urn nor animated bust; This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way To pour her sorrows o'er her poet's dust." On the other side of the stone is as follows: "By special grant of the managers to Robert Burns, who erected this stone, this burial place is to remain for ever sacred to the memory of Robert Fergusson." EDINBURGH, March 22nd, 1787.
We reached our destination an extensive and somewhat straggling one- storied building, with large lofty rooms shrouded in semi-darkness by the "jalousies" or Venetian shutters which are used to carefully exclude every ray of sunlight about noon; and received a most cordial and hearty welcome from our host, a most hospitable Scotchman, and his family, and here not to unnecessarily spin out my yarn we spent one of the most pleasant and enjoyable weeks I had up to that time passed.
She heard that we were bound for Greece, that she would see her father, and now, for the first time, she prattled of him to her mother. On landing at Athens we found difficulties encrease upon us: nor could the storied earth or balmy atmosphere inspire us with enthusiasm or pleasure, while the fate of Raymond was in jeopardy.
When I looked round upon the storied monuments, the stately hatchments, the cold marble pomp with which grandeur mourned magnificently over departed pride, and turned to this poor widow, bowed down by age and sorrow at the altar of her God, and offering up the prayers and praises of a pious though a broken heart, I felt that this living monument of real grief was worth them all.
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