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Morris, William, 1834-1896

"The Roots of the Mountains; Wherein Is Told Somewhat of the Lives of the Men of Burgdale"

Lo!
here I stand, a man of the Face, sword and axe by my side; if death
come, it can but come once; and if I fear not death, what shall make
me afraid? The Gods hate me not, and will not hurt me; and they are
not ugly, but beauteous.'
Therewith he strode on again, and soon came to a place where the
ground sank into a shallow valley and the ling gave place to grass
for a while, and there were tall old pines scattered about, and
betwixt them grey rocks; this he passed through, climbing a steep
bent out of it, and the pines were all about him now, though growing
wide apart, till at last he came to where they thickened into a wood,
not very close, wherethrough he went merrily, singing to himself and
swinging his spear. He was soon through this wood, and came on to a
wide well-grassed wood-lawn, hedged by the wood aforesaid on three
sides, but sloping up slowly toward the black wall of the thicker
pine-wood on the fourth side, and about half a furlong overthwart and
endlong. The sun had set while he was in the last wood, but it was
still broad daylight on the wood-lawn, and as he stood there he was
ware of a house under the pine-wood on the other side, built long and
low, much like the houses of the Woodland-Carles, but rougher
fashioned and of unhewn trees.


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