SEARCH
0-9 A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Prev | Current Page 167 | Next

MacDonald, George, 1824-1905

"The Seaboard Parish Volume 1"

I stood up, stretched out my arms, threw back my shoulders
and my head, and filled my chest with a draught of the delicious wind,
feeling thereafter like a giant refreshed with wine. Wynnie stood
apparently unmoved amidst the life-nectar, thoughtful, and turning her eyes
hither and thither.
"That makes me feel young again," I said.
"I wish it would make me feel old then," said Wynnie.
"What do you mean, my child?"
"Because then I should have a chance of knowing what it is like to feel
young," she answered rather enigmatically. I did not reply. We were walking
up the brow which hid the sea from us. The smell of the down-turf was
indescribable in its homely delicacy; and by the time we had reached the
top, almost every sense was filled with its own delight. The top of the
hill was the edge of the great shore-cliff; and the sun was hanging on the
face of the mightier sky-cliff opposite, and the sea stretched for visible
miles and miles along the shore on either hand, its wide blue mantle
fringed with lovely white wherever it met the land, and scalloped into
all fantastic curves, according to the whim of the nether fires which had
formed its bed; and the rush of the waves, as they bore the rising tide up
on the shore, was the one music fit for the whole.


Pages:
155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179