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The Tale of Sleepy Hollow: Difference between revisions

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Þe merrimake nuw slowly broke up. Þe old bures gaþered togeþer hir maiþs in hir wains, and wer herd for sum time ratteling along þe hollow roads, and ofer þe farlen hills. Sum of þe maidens rode on seats behind hir cosen swans, and hir liteharted laffter, mingeling wiþ þe clatter of hoofes, eftluded along þe still woodlands, luding softer and softer, hent hie stepwise swinded,—and þe late setting of lude and merrimake was all still and forsaken. Ickabod only taried behind, by þe won of upland lufers, to haf a hed to hed wiþ þe maiden of þe huse; fully won ofer þat he was nuw on þe hie road to speed. What went on in þiss meeting ice will not licet to say, for in sooþ ice know not. Sumþing, huwefer, ice fear me, must haf gon wuw, for he wisly came forþ, after no grate betwixtfack, wiþ an ansen raþer lorn and unmoody. O, þese wifemen! þese wifemen! Cood þat girl haf been playing off any of her flirtful prats? Was her boldening of þe arm teacer all a scam to sicker her nimming of his fow? Hefen only knows, not ice! Let it be enuff to say, Ickabod stole forþ wiþ þe whiþ of man hoo had been winning ofer a henroost, raþer þan a fair ladies hart. Wiþute looking to þe rite or left to mark þe setting of upland welþ, on whice he had so often crowed, he went strait to þe horsern, and wiþ many harty blows and kicks woke his steed unhendly from þe cweem sted in whice he was sundly sleeping, dreaming of barows of corn and oats, and hole deens of clofer and catstailgrass.
It was þe wicing time of nite itself þat Ickabod, hefiharted and lorn, followed his paþ homewards, along þe sides of þe liftlifty hills whice rise abufe Tary Tune, and whice he had fared so marily in þe afternoon. Þe stund was as grim as his mood. Far beneaþ him þe Tappan Zee spred its dusky and unsuttel weasten of wotters, wiþ here and þare þe tall mast of a sloop, riding softly at anker under þe land. In þe ded husce of midnite, he cood efen hear þe barking of þe wacedog from þe wiþer score of þe Hudson; but it was so unsuttel and slite as only to yeafe a ween of his farl from þiss troþful siþer of man. Nuw and þen, too, þe longdrawn crowing of a cock, unwittingly awoken, wood lude far, far off, from sum irþhuse away amung þe hills—but it was like a dreaming lude in his ear. No tokens of life befell near him, but from time to time þe yoomer cirp of a hillhoamer, or maybe þe deep twang of a bullfrog from a nayboring marsce, as iff sleeping uncweemly and starting swiftly in þe bed.
All þe tales of goasts and pucks þat he had herd in þe afternoon nuw came cruding upon his min. Þe nite grew darker and darker; þe stars seemed to sink deeper in þe hefens, and drifing cludes from time to time hid hem from his site. He had nefer felt so lonely and lorn. He was, moreofer, nearing þe sted itself þat had been þe setting of many of þose goast tales. In þe middel of þe road stood a grate saddeltree, whice kiþed like an ettin abufe all þe oþer trees of þe nayborhood, and made a kind of landmark. Its buws wer gnarled and ferly, grate enuff to be as stocks for mean trees, twisting dune almost to þe erþ, and rising ayen into þe lift. It was lenced wiþ þe sarrowful tale of þe wreced André, hoo had been hafted hard by; and was known by all by þe name of Hieward Andrés tree. Þe cerlfolk held it wiþ a mix of werþ and offgalþ, in deal ute of rewþ for its illstarred namesake, and in deal from þe tales of ferly sites, and dreary woops, told abute it.
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