Open Daily: 10am - 10pm | Alley door pickup 10am - 7pm 3038 Hennepin Ave Minneapolis, MN
612-822-4611

  • Open Daily: 10am - 10pm
    Alley-side Pickup: 10am - 7pm

    3038 Hennepin Ave Minneapolis, MN
    612-822-4611

Open Daily: 10am - 10pm | Alley-side Pickup: 10am - 7pm
3038 Hennepin Ave Minneapolis, MN
612-822-4611
Plains and Uplands of Old France; A Book of Verse and Prose

Plains and Uplands of Old France; A Book of Verse and Prose

Greene, Henry Copley

Paperback

General Law

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ISBN10: 1151670855
ISBN13: 9781151670854
Publisher: General Books
Pages: 20
Weight: 0.12
Height: 0.04 Width: 7.44 Depth: 9.69
Language: English
This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated.1898 Excerpt: ... GERARD DE ROUSILLON GERARD, the holy man of wars Whose love of heaven and hate of hell Drove out from France the infidel, Slept deep with Bertha 'neath the stars While angels sang. For Bertha and good Count Gerard Had labored with the laboring throng, And borne great beams and stones along To build Her shrine whom, from afar, The angels love. Before the dawn good Count Gerard Awoke to pray with Bertha there; But she was gone, and in despair He thought her false, as maidens are, To vows of love. In anger, then, the man of wars Sped swift his dewy path along. He found her building while a throng Of angels aided, and the stars Her praises sang. VEZELAY HAT? You depart already? asked Jules as I came out of the Red Hat into the morning sunshine. Friends await me, said I. The gay little cook tapped his club-foot against the pavement, turned his moustache high up at the ends, and shaking his whitecapped head asked slyly Dey are Laydees? Hardly, I answered, thinking of old acquaintances, Philippon, the laughing Vezelay sexton, and Gauthillot, mine host. But as I rode off Jules proudly repeated the significant word Laydees, and showed his white teeth through a crescent-shaped smile, and shook his finger at me in mock condemnation. Evidently he meant his joke to echo in my mind all the way to Vezelay. Only a street or two off, however, my memory of his voice faded and was lost in sweet tones which vibrated faintly in the air and, as I came to an arched doorway, grew into soft singing. Strangely ethereal it seemed. But when I passed through the door, the old church harmonies rose still more ethereal. For beyond a white grating that shut out even the priests and acolytes, nuns stood among their wreathcrowned little charges, chanting alone; their voices, pure a...

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