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Updated: May 10, 2025
"I suppose he couldn't get a cab," she exclaimed, as the knock startled her from her listening attitude for however intently a midnight watcher may be listening for the returning wanderer's knock, it is not the less startling when it comes? "and he has walked home through the wet, and now he'll have a violent cold, I daresay," added Georgy peevishly.
Does, by any chance, such a wanderer's eye fall upon these few sentences? If so, we do earnestly and tenderly entreat him, by the love of his mother, that is still with him, no matter how far he has gone from the right path, to come back on this blessed day; and thus make the thanksgiving of that mother's heart complete."
Although it must appear that the digamma if it yet rambles alive somewhere beneath the moon has by this time grown a beard and is lost beyond recognition, still old gentlemen meet weekly and read papers to one another on the progress of the search. Like the old woman of the story they still keep a light burning in their study windows against the wanderer's return.
This universal desire to light mythical tar-barrels in honor of the wanderer's return suggests at last to Mr. Gower the necessity of expressing his delight likewise. Rising, therefore, from his seat, he goes up to Roger, and insists on shaking him cordially by the hand.
Then, some day Fate lets a storm come raging down upon their; the last veil is torn, under the wanderer's eyes, from the very heart of his companion, and at last he really sees him as he is, like a kernel stripped of its shell, a bare and naked body. Last night such a blast swept over us and let me see the heart of my Antinous, as plainly as this hand I hold before my eyes.
Born and educated on German soil, steeped during his wanderer's years in the spirit of the Italian muse, and finally nourished on the cathedral music of England, Handel became thoroughly cosmopolitan, appropriating what he chose from the influences that surrounded him.
Here she paused awhile, for from within the chamber there came a sound of singing, and the voice was the Wanderer's voice, and thus he sang: "Endure, my heart: not long shalt thou endure The shame, the smart; The good and ill are done; the end is sure; Endure, my heart! There stand two vessels by the golden throne Of Zeus on high, From these he scatters mirth and scatters moan, To men that die.
But meanwhile the bow was silent, and of those on the hinder deck who were casting spears, one dropped and the others quickly fled to their fellows below, for on the deck they had no cover. The sun was now well risen, and shone on the Wanderer's golden mail, as he stood alone on the decking, with his bow drawn.
She has power over you, as she has over me, but the power to make you love her she has not. She will destroy you, and your state will be no better than mine to-day. We shall have moved on a step, for I shall be dead and you will be the madman, and she will have found another to love and to torture. The world is full of them. Her altar will never lack sacrifices." The Wanderer's face was grave.
Some time in August, 1862, he called at my office in London, with a parcel of books under his arm. He had been praying for me daily for twelve months, when something seemed to say to him, "You should do something more than pray." And now he had come to try what he could do by a personal interview to aid the wanderer's return to Christ.
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