 | 1823 - 496 páginas
...cnnit thoa be sure is was my son ? Caleb I saw him yestejday wrought to a pitch Beyovd hi* custom of impatient grief. 'Twas one of many blank successless...and famine. I left him late upon the moor— this mom. As I retum'd fron Willow Mrad. I found him In strange disorder at hit cottage door. He told me... | |
 | 1822 - 640 páginas
...canst thou be sure it was my son ? Caleb. 1 saw him yesterday wrought to a pitch Beyond his custom of impatient grief. 'Twas one of many blank successless...famine. I left him late upon the moor — this morn, As I return'd from Willow Mead, I found him In strange disorder at his cottage door. He told me he... | |
 | 1822 - 654 páginas
...canst thoa be sure it was my son ? Caleb. I saw him yesterday wrought to a pitch Beyond his custom of impatient grief. 'Twas one of many blank successless...famine. I left him late upon the moor — this morn, As I return'd from Willow Mead, I found him In strange disorder at his cottage door. He told me he... | |
 | Robert Sulivan - 1824 - 120 páginas
...canst thou be sure it was my son ? CALEB. I saw him yesterday wrought to a pitch Beyond his custom of impatient grief. 'Twas one of many blank, successless...famine. I left him late upon the moor. This morn, As I return'd from Willow Mead, I found him In strange disorder at his cottage door. He told me he... | |
 | William Evans Burton, Edgar Allan Poe - 1838 - 448 páginas
...breathless friends lamenting on the bank : Their toil was fruitless. Rayland. Slill thou art not sur Was there no wretch aweary of his life Save my poor...yesterday Wrought to a pitch of most impatient grief — 'T was one of many blank, succcssle« days. And he talk'd madly of his wife and »inline. I left... | |
 | 1838 - 448 páginas
...breathless friends lamenting on the bank : Their toil was fruitless. Rai/laud. Slill thou art not nure— Was there no wretch aweary of his life Save my poor son! No father that deserved Despair save met Caleb. I uw him yesterday 170 STANZAS, I Itfi him hip upon the moor. Thi« morn, Reluming home... | |
 | Robert Walsh, Eliakim Littell, John Jay Smith - 1822 - 636 páginas
...canst thou be sure it was my son ? Caleb. I saw him yesterday wrought to a pitch Beyond his custom of impatient grief. 'Twas one of many blank successless...days, And he talk'd madly of his wife and famine. 1 left him late upon the moor — this mom, As I return'd from Willow Mead, I found him In strange... | |
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As I return'd from Willow Mead, I found him In strange disorder at his cottage door. He told me he had slept; his wife just now Assured me that he was not home all night, And, when he came, he brought a purse of gold. My lord, I 'm sure you best know... 