Jacob Faithful |
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Page 245
... and so perfumed , that The winds were love - sick with them ; the oars were silver , Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke , and made The water , which they beat , to follow faster , As amorous of their strokes .
... and so perfumed , that The winds were love - sick with them ; the oars were silver , Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke , and made The water , which they beat , to follow faster , As amorous of their strokes .
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Popular passages
Page 116 - A wet sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast; And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee. O for a soft and gentle wind!
Page 68 - No glory I covet ! no riches I want ! Ambition is nothing to me ! The one thing I beg of kind Heaven to grant, Is a mind independent and free.
Page 96 - Then are they glad, because they are at rest : and so he bringeth them unto the haven where they would be.
Page 85 - That you be carried from hence to the place from whence you came, and from thence to the place of execution, and there to be hanged by the neck till you are dead ; and may the Lord have mercy on your soul...
Page 244 - By Jove, I am not covetous of gold : Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost ; It yearns me not if men my garments wear : Such outward things dwell not in my desires : But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive.
Page 254 - I to myself, a nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse.
Page 122 - COME o'er the sea, Maiden, with me, Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows ; Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same, where'er it goes.
Page 243 - Away, Away, you trifler! Love! I love thee not, I care not for thee, Kate : This is no world To play with mammets and to tilt with lips : We must have bloody noses and cracked crowns, And pass them current, too.
Page 228 - Though he win the wise, who frown'd before, To smile at last ; He'll never meet A joy so sweet, In all his noon of fame, As when first he sung to woman's ear His soul-felt flame, And, at every close, she blush'd to hear The one loved name.
Page 243 - The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd on the water ; the poop was beaten gold, Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them, the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes.
Bibliographic information
| Title | Jacob Faithful Volume 63 of Standard novels Volume 2 of Works of Marryat, Frederick Marryat |
| Author | Frederick Marryat |
| Publisher | Hauman, 1838 |
| Original from | Oxford University |
| Digitized | 18 Jan 2007 |
| Export Citation | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |