Explore "The Widow and her Son" by Washington Irving on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Pittie olde age, within whose silver haires / Honour and reverence evermore have rain'd. / Marlowe's Tamburlaine
Those who are in the habit of remarking such matters must have noticed the passive quiet of an English landscape on Sunday. The clacking of the mill, the regularly recurring stroke of the flail, the din of the blacksmith's hammer, the whistling of the ploughman, the rattling of the cart, and all other sounds of rural labor are suspended. The very farm-dogs bark less frequently, being less disturbed by passing travellers. At such times I have almost fancied the wind sunk into quiet, and that the sunny landscape, with its fresh green tints melting into blue haze, enjoyed the hallowed calm.