Uncloistered

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  “She gazed ahead through a long reach of future days strung together like pearls in a rosary, every one like the others, and all smooth and flawless and innocent, and her heart went up in thankfulness. Outside was the fervid summer afternoon; the air was filled with the sounds of the busy harvest of men and birds and bees; there were halloos, metallic clatterings, sweet calls, and long hummings. Louisa sat, prayerfully numbering her days, like an uncloistered nun.” A New England Nun By Mary E. Wilkins Freeman (1852–1930)

Cyclops Blacksmith

 “Sacred to Vulcan’s name, an isle there lay,

Betwixt Sicilia’s coasts and Lipare, 

Rais’d high on smoking rocks; and, deep below,

In hollow caves the fires of Ætna glow. 

The Cyclops here their heavy hammers deal; 

Loud strokes, and hissings of tormented steel, 

Are heard around; the boiling waters roar,

And smoky flames thro’ fuming tunnels soar.”


—Vergil (70 B.C.–19 B.C.).  Æneid.




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