A Narrative of the Captivity, Sufferings, and Removes, of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson: Who was Taken Prisoner by the Indians at the Destruction of Lancaster in 1675

Portada
Ballard & Bynner, 1853 - 73 páginas

Dentro del libro

Páginas seleccionadas

Otras ediciones - Ver todas

Términos y frases comunes

Pasajes populares

Página 12 - Me have ye bereaved of my children: Joseph is not, and Simeon is not, and ye will take Benjamin away: all these things are against me.
Página 69 - We will not hide them from their children, showing to the generation to come the praises of the Lord, And his strength, and his wonderful works that he hath done...
Página 16 - Thus saith the Lord ; Refrain thy voice from weeping, and thine eyes from tears: for thy work shall be rewarded, saith the Lord ; and they shall come again from the land of the enemy. And there is hope in thine end, saith the Lord, that thy children shall come again to their own border.
Página 17 - Oh, that my people had hearkened unto me, and Israel had walked in my ways ! I should soon have subdued their enemies, and turned my hand against their adversaries.
Página 21 - It seems to be a bait the devil lays to make men lose their precious time. I remember with shame how formerly, when I had taken two or three pipes, I was presently ready for another, such a bewitching thing it is.
Página 8 - Now away we must go with those barbarous creatures, with our bodies wounded and bleeding, and our hearts no less than our bodies.
Página 8 - All of them stript naked by a company of hell-hounds, roaring, singing, ranting, and insulting, as if they would have torn our very hearts out; yet the Lord, by his almighty power, preserved a number of us from death, for there were twenty-four of us taken alive and carried captive. I had often before this said, that if the Indians should come, I should chuse rather to be killed by them than taken alive...
Página 27 - Have pity upon me, have pity upon me, O ye my friends; For the hand of God hath touched me.
Página 9 - ... bearing up my spirit, that it did not quite fail. One of the Indians carried my poor wounded babe upon a horse; it went moaning all along, "I shall die, I shall die.
Página 10 - ... judged what a poor, feeble condition we were in, there being not the least crumb of refreshing that came within either of our mouths from Wednesday night to Saturday night, except only a little cold water. This day in the afternoon, about an hour by sun, we came to the place where they intended, viz. an Indian town called Wenimesset, northward of Quabaug.

Información bibliográfica