This champion of the gate. No fragile wall
Stands here for Caesar, blocking with its bulk
Pompeius' way to freedom. Now he trusts
His shield no more, lest his sinister hand,
Idle, give life by shame; and on his breast
Bearing a forest of spears, though spent with toil
And worn with onset, falls upon his foe
And braves alone the wounds of all the war.
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- 1heavy rain set in, which was hardly sufficient to drive
- 2the following morning the Bishop gave in English such a
- 3may seem strange and unaccountable to the children of earth,
- 4smile been so glad, so beaming with the radiance of Heaven.
- 5big farm, evidently finding in the society of this rougher
- 6growing. There are lovely roses and fruit blossoms, but
- 7in my dressing-gown, but hastily popped on my bonnet and
- 8Herbert, and four nice Native Christians. I was the only
- 9church bell by guess. The arrival of our boats was a rare
- 10of a Servant of a Crucified Saviour?... Thinking of your
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- before. For what was he waiting, or for whom? He heard
- man; gentle, bright, affectionate; showing not a particle
- of the Holy Spirit. Ask this for me, my Laura. I do get
- Was the ‘sorrow’ here spoken of, the delicate health
- our tents. They were very civil, and offered us a house;
- I had been petty and irritable, and deserved a different
- (fan), which I waved gratefully in church this morning.
- I have begged that the building may be very plain,—dear
- In three strides he found his foot splashing in water.
- that I had had it instead!” And yet I prefer knowing