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How the skipper saw the crowded and rudderless wreck of the steam-ship, and Death chasing it up and down the storm,. How he knuckled tight, and gave not back one inch, and was faithful of days and faithful of nights,. And chalked in large letters, on a board, Be of good cheer, We will not desert you,.

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How he followed with them, and tacked with them— and would not give it up,. How the lank loose-gowned women looked when boated from the side of their prepared graves,. How the silent old-faced infants, and the lifted sick, and the sharp-lipped unshaved men,. All this I swallow—it tastes good—I like it well— it becomes mine,. The mother, condemned for a witch, burnt with dry wood, her children gazing on,. The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the the fence, blowing, covered with sweat,.

The twinges that sting like needles his legs and neck —the murderous buck-shot and the bullets,. Hell and despair are upon me, crack and again crack the marksmen,. I clutch the rails of the fence, my gore dribs, thinned with the ooze of my skin,. Taunt my dizzy ears, and beat me violently over the head with whip-stocks. I do not ask the wounded person how he feels—I myself become the wounded person,.

My hurt turns livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe. Heat and smoke I inspired—I heard the yelling shouts of my comrades,. They have cleared the beams away—they tenderly lift me forth. White and beautiful are the faces around me—the heads are bared of their fire-caps,. The kneeling crowd fades with the light of the torches. They show as the dial or move as the hands of me— I am the clock myself. The cries, curses, roar—the plaudits for well-aimed shots,. Workmen searching after damages, making indis- pensable repairs,. The fall of grenades through the rent roof—the fan-shaped explosion,.

The whizz of limbs, heads, stone, wood, iron, high in the air. He gasps through the clot, Mind not me — mind — the entrenchments. Nine hundred lives out of the surrounding enemy's, nine times their number, was the price they took in advance,. Their colonel was wounded and their ammunition gone,. They treated for an honorable capitulation, received writing and seal, gave up their arms, and marched back prisoners of war. Large, turbulent, generous, brave, handsome, proud, and affectionate,. Bearded, sunburnt, dressed in the free costume of hunters,.

The work commenced about five o'clock, and was over by eight. Some made a mad and helpless rush—some stood stark and straight,. A few fell at once, shot in the temple or heart—the living and dead lay together,. The maimed and mangled dug in the dirt—the new- comers saw them there,. These were despatched with bayonets, or battered with the blunts of muskets,. A youth not seventeen years old seized his assassin till two more came to release him,. The three were all torn, and covered with the boy's blood.

That is the tale of the murder of the four hundred and twelve young men. Did you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars? His was the English pluck—and there is no tougher or truer, and never was, and never will be;. On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire, killing all around, and blowing up overhead.

The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold, to give them a chance for them- selves. They saw so many strange faces, they did not know whom to trust. We have not struck, he composedly cried, We have just begun our part of the fighting. One was directed by the captain himself against the enemy's main-mast,. Two, well served with grape and canister, silenced his musketry and cleared his decks. They all held out bravely during the whole of the action.

The leaks gained fast on the pumps—the fire eat toward the powder-magazine,. One of the pumps was shot away—it was generally thought we were sinking. He was not hurried—his voice was neither high nor low,. His eyes gave more light to us than our battle- lanterns. Two great hulls motionless on the breast of the darkness,. Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking—preparations to pass to the one we had conquered,.

The captain on the quarter-deck coldly giving his orders through a countenance white as a sheet,. Near by, the corpse of the child that served in the cabin,. The dead face of an old salt with long white hair and carefully curled whiskers,. The flames, spite of all that could be done, flickering aloft and below,.

The husky voices of the two or three officers yet fit for duty,. Formless stacks of bodies, and bodies by themselves —dabs of flesh upon the masts and spars,. Cut of cordage, dangle of rigging, slight shock of the soothe of waves,. Black and impassive guns, litter of powder-parcels, strong scent,. Delicate sniffs of sea-breeze, smells of sedgy grass and fields by the shore, death-messages given in charge to survivors,. The hiss of the surgeon's knife, the gnawing teeth of his saw,.

Wheeze, cluck, swash of falling blood, short wild scream, and long dull tapering groan,. This is mastering me! Through the conquered doors they crowd. I am possessed. What the savage at the stump, his eye-sockets empty, his mouth spirting whoops and defiance,. What stills the traveller come to the vault at Mount Vernon,. What sobers the Brooklyn boy as he looks down the shores of the Wallabout and remembers the Prison Ships,.

What burnt the gums of the red-coat at Saratoga when he surrendered his brigades,. These become mine and me every one—and they are but little,. I am less the jolly one there, and more the silent one, with sweat on my twitching lips. My face is ash-colored—my sinews gnarl—away from me people retreat. Rise extatic through all, sweep with the true gravita- tion,. Stand back! Give me a little time beyond my cuffed head, slum- bers, dreams, gaping,. That I could forget the trickling tears, and the blows of the bludgeons and hammers! That I could look with a separate look on my own crucifixion and bloody crowning.

The grave of rock multiplies what has been confided to it, or to any graves,. Inland and by the sea-coast and boundary lines, and we pass all boundary lines. The blossoms we wear in our hats are the growth of two thousand years. I see the approach of your numberless gangs—I see you understand yourselves and me,. And know that they who have eyes and can walk are divine, and the blind and lame are equally divine,.

And that my steps drag behind yours, yet go before them,. And are aware how I am with you no more than I am with everybody. Is he waiting for civilization, or past it and master- ing it? Is he Kanadian? Is he from the Mississippi country? Iowa, Oregon, California? They desire he should like them, touch them, speak to them, stay with them. Slow-stepping feet, common features, common modes and emanations,. They descend in new forms from the tips of his fingers,. They are wafted with the odor of his body or breath —they fly out of the glance of his eyes.

You light surfaces only—I force surfaces and depths also. I might tell how I like you, but cannot,. And might tell what it is in me, and what it is in you, but cannot,. And might tell that pining I have—that pulse of my nights and days. I do not give lectures or a little charity,. I am not to be denied—I compel—I have stores plenty and to spare,. You can do nothing, and be nothing, but what I will infold you. This day I am jetting the stuff of far more arrogant republics. Hang your whole weight upon me. I and they keep guard all night,.

Not doubt—not decease shall dare to lay finger upon you,. I have embraced you, and henceforth possess you to myself,. And when you rise in the morning you will find what I tell you is so. And for strong upright men I bring yet more needed help. The most they offer for mankind and eternity less than a spirt of my own seminal wet,.

Lithographing Kronos, Zeus his son, and Hercules his grandson,. In my portfolio placing Manito loose, Allah on a leaf, the crucifix engraved,. With Odin, and the hideous-faced Mexitli, and every idol and image,. Taking them all for what they are worth, and not a cent more,. Admitting they were alive and did the work of their day,. Admitting they bore mites, as for unfledged birds, who have now to rise and fly and sing for them- selves,. Accepting the rough deific sketches to fill out better in myself—bestowing them freely on each man and woman I see,.

Discovering as much, or more, in a framer framing a house,. Putting higher claims for him there with his rolled- up sleeves, driving the mallet and chisel,. Not objecting to special revelations—considering a curl of smoke or a hair on the back of my hand just as curious as any revelation,. Those ahold of fire engines and hook-and-ladder ropes no less to me than the Gods of the antique wars,. Minding their voices peal through the crash of destruction,. Their brawny limbs passing safe over charred laths— their white foreheads whole and unhurt out of the flames;. By the mechanic's wife with her babe at her nipple interceding for every person born,.

Three scythes at harvest whizzing in a row from three lusty angels with shirts bagged out at their waists,. The snag-toothed hostler with red hair redeeming sins past and to come,. Selling all he possesses, travelling on foot to fee lawyers for his brother, and sit by him while he is tried for forgery;. What was strewn in the amplest strewing the square rod about me, and not filling the square rod then,. The supernatural of no account—myself waiting my time to be one of the Supremes,.

The day getting ready for me when I shall do as much good as the best, and be as prodigious,. Guessing when I am it will not tickle me much to receive puffs out of pulpit or print;. Putting myself here and now to the ambushed womb of the shadows. Come my boys and girls, my women, household, and intimates,. Now the performer launches his nerve—he has passed his prelude on the reeds within. I feel the thrum of their climax and close. Folks are around me, but they are no household of mine. Ever the eaters and drinkers—Ever the upward and downward sun—Ever the air and the cease- less tides,.

Ever myself and my neighbors, refreshing, wicked, real,. Ever the old inexplicable query—Ever that thorned thumb—that breath of itches and thirsts,. Ever the vexer's hoot! Ever the bandage under the chin—Ever the tressels of death. To feed the greed of the belly, the brains liberally spooning,. Tickets buying, taking, selling, but in to the feast never once going,. Many sweating, ploughing, thrashing, and then the chaff for payment receiving,.

A few idly owning, and they the wheat continually claiming. Whatever interests the rest interests me—politics, markets, newspapers, schools,. Benevolent societies, improvements, banks, tariffs, steamships, factories, stocks, stores, real estate, and personal estate. Every thought that flounders in me, the same floun- ders in them.

I know my omnivorous words, and cannot say any less,. And would fetch you, whoever you are, flush with myself. This printed and bound book—but the printer, and the printing-office boy? The well-taken photographs—but your wife or friend close and solid in your arms? The fleet of ships of the line, and all the modern improvements—but the craft and pluck of the admiral?

The dishes and fare and furniture—but the host and hostess, and the look out of their eyes? The sky up there—yet here, or next door, or across the way? Sermons, creeds, theology—but the human brain, and what is reason? My faith is the greatest of faiths, and the least of faiths,. Enclosing all worship ancient and modern, and all between ancient and modern,.

Believing I shall come again upon the earth after five thousand years,. Waiting responses from oracles, honoring the Gods, saluting the sun,. Making a fetish of the first rock or stump, powwowing with sticks in the circle of obis,. Helping the lama or brahmin as he trims the lamps of the idols,.

Dancing yet through the streets in a phallic pro- cession—rapt and austere in the woods, a gymnosophist,. Drinking mead from the skull-cup—to Shastas and Vedas admirant—minding the Koran,. Walking the teokallis, spotted with gore from the stone and knife, beating the serpent-skin drum,. Accepting the Gospels—accepting him that was crucified, knowing assuredly that he is divine,. To the mass kneeling, or the puritan's prayer rising, or sitting patiently in a pew,. Ranting and frothing in my insane crisis, or waiting dead-like till my spirit arouses me,.

Looking forth on pavement and land, or outside of pavement and land,. Frivolous, sullen, moping, angry, affected, disheart- ened, atheistical,. I know every one of you—I know the unspoken interrogatories,. How they contort, rapid as lightning, with spasms, and spouts of blood! The past is the push of you, me, all, precisely the same,.

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And what is yet untried and afterward is for you, me, all, precisely the same. Nor the young woman who died and was put by his side,. Nor the little child that peeped in at the door, and then drew back, and was never seen again,. Nor the old man who has lived without purpose, and feels it with bitterness worse than gall,. Nor him in the poor-house, tubercled by rum and the bad disorder,. Nor the numberless slaughtered and wrecked—nor the brutish koboo called the ordure of humanity,. Nor the sacs merely floating with open mouths for food to slip in,.

Nor anything in the earth, or down in the oldest graves of the earth,. Nor anything in the myriads of spheres—nor one of the myriads of myriads that inhabit them,. I am sorry for you—they are not murderous or jeal- ous upon me,. All has been gentle with me—I keep no account with lamentation,. On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches between the steps,. Afar down I see the huge first Nothing—I know I was even there,. I waited unseen and always, and slept through the lethargic mist,.

And took my time, and took no hurt from the fetid carbon. They sent influences to look after what was to hold me. My embryo has never been torpid—nothing could overlay it. Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths, and deposited it with care. Ever-pushed elasticity! Jostling me through streets and public halls— coming naked to me at night,. Crying by day Ahoy!

Calling my name from flower-beds, vines, tangled under-brush,. Or while I swim in the bath, or drink from the pump at the corner—or the curtain is down at the opera, or I glimpse at a woman's face in the railroad car,. Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts, and giving them to be mine. O welcome, ineffable grace of dying days! And all I see, multiplied as high as I can cipher, edge but the rim of the farther systems. And greater sets follow, making specks of the greatest inside them. If I, you, the worlds, all beneath or upon their sur- faces, and all the palpable life, were this moment reduced back to a pallid float, it would not avail in the long run,.

We should surely bring up again where we now stand,. And as surely go as much farther—and then farther and farther. Count ever so much, there is limitless time around that. The Lord will be there, and wait till I come on per- fect terms. My signs are a rain-proof coat, good shoes, and a staff cut from the woods,. But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll,. My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents, and a plain public road.

Perhaps you have been on it since you were born, and did not know,. Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as we go. And in due time you shall repay the same service to me,. And I said to my Spirit, When we become the enfolders of those orbs, and the pleasure and knowledge of everything in them, shall we be filled and satisfied then?

And my Spirit said No, we level that lift, to pass and continue beyond. I answer that I cannot answer—you must find out for yourself. But as soon as you sleep, and renew yourself in sweet clothes, I will certainly kiss you with my good-bye kiss, and open the gate for your egress hence. You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light, and of every moment of your life. To jump off in the midst of the sea, rise again, nod to me, shout, and laughingly dash with your hair. He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own, proves the width of my own,.

He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher. Wicked, rather than virtuous out of conformity or fear,. Unrequited love, or a slight, cutting him worse than a wound cuts,. First rate to ride, to fight, to hit the bull's-eye, to sail a skiff, to sing a song, or play on the banjo,. Preferring scars, and faces pitted with small-pox, over all latherers, and those that keep out of the sun.

I follow you, whoever you are, from the present hour,. My words itch at your ears till you understand them. It is you talking just as much as myself—I act as the tongue of you,. And I swear I will never translate myself at all, only to him or her who privately stays with me in the open air.

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The nearest gnat is an explanation, and a drop or motion of waves a key,. The woodman, that takes his axe and jug with him, shall take me with him all day,. The farm-boy, ploughing in the field, feels good at the sound of my voice,. In vessels that sail, my words sail—I go with fisher- men and seamen, and love them. The driver, thinking of me, does not mind the jolt of his wagon,. The girl and the wife rest the needle a moment, and forget where they are,. And I have said that the body is not more than the Soul,. And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one's self is.

And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy, walks to his own funeral, dressed in his shroud,. And I or you, pocketless of a dime, may purchase the pick of the earth,. And to glance with an eye, or show a bean in its pod, confounds the learning of all times,. And there is no trade or employment but the young man following it may become a hero,. And there is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the wheeled universe,.

And any man or woman shall stand cool and supercilious before a million universes. For I, who am curious about each, am not curious about God,. No array of terms can say how much I am at peace about God, and about death. Nor do I understand who there can be more won- derful than myself. I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment then,. In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass,.

I find letters from God dropped in the street—and every one is signed by God's name,. And I leave them where they are, for I know that others will punctually come forever and ever. I recline by the sills of the exquisite flexible doors, and mark the outlet, and mark the relief and escape. I reach to the leafy lips—I reach to the polished breasts of melons. No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before. O suns! O grass of graves! Rawley was there too. Dallas was injured badly but in the end, it was Rawley who saves them. Dee takes care of Dallas, who soon overcomes with infection and fever.

From early on, it was apparent that Austin had a tendre for a girl named Becky. At the sometime, Boyd, Duncan and Cameron were there to talk to Dallas. Soon after Dee and Dallas was rescued, the sheriff comes in, informing them the kidnappers have been murdered. Now there was no way to prove that it was Boyd who paid them to kill Dallas. I loved this scene, the confident and angry Dee. Meanwhile, Houston and Amelia were in the house, helping Dee to take care of Dallas.

The fact that Austin went to town to threaten Boyd and fired one bullet in front of the people there also comes out. Though I understood the reason why he just took it onto him, Austin was such a good boy. Hmm, anyway as Dallas regains consciousness and leans about it all, he feels helpless. All through the book, reading of the profusion of love these brothers shared together overwhelmed me with emotion. In the end, Dee talks to Dallas about leaving him. I was again like, what the hell is this?! But, my annoyance went out in the wind when I read the scene before epilogue. It was too beautiful, made it upto me without a doubt.

I loved the words they exchanged, so touching. As I said earlier, I was a watering pot by then. I didn't find it. I came here, thinking I'd find glory if I built a ranching empire or a thriving town. Nodding mutely, she wrapped her arms around his neck. The flowers floated to the ground as he lifted her into his arms and carried her into the house.

He and Dee now have a baby, one they created in love. It was all that mattered. Oh, that man stole my heart Anyway, his habit of rubbing his mustache when he was thinking deeply was an endearing habit IMO. May 13, Mei rated it it was amazing Shelves: historical. Let me start saying: Would you please give me a weapon, so I can go at the beginning of this book and erase from this earth Boyd, her worthless father, Duncan and Cooper!!!

Maybe then I would have read this book without the pressing need to slam my e-book down so often! Don't get me wrong, I liked this book very, very much, but most of the time I wanted to smash something! Dee is a sweet girl. She's beautiful, but so very much view spoiler [doormat hide spoiler ] shy. Mostly I couldn't find the Let me start saying: Would you please give me a weapon, so I can go at the beginning of this book and erase from this earth Boyd, her worthless father, Duncan and Cooper!!!

Mostly I couldn't find the reason why Dallas fell in love with her. Why Dee has to be so, so I liked her better at the end of the book when she confronted her family. I wanted to yell: That's the way, girl!!! Go, go, go!!! Dallas was also not without fault. He's so rigid that I could almost hear his bones snapping here and there. He's also so sweet and I couldn't understand how Dee missed that he was soo in love with her! The book is so good because it caused a very strong emotions, but at the same time was also very sweet and romantic: an excellent mix!

Now, let go and read Austin's story view spoiler [poor boy hide spoiler ]!


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Ahhhhh it hurts to know that I could have loved the book but somehow something was not right. A marriage of convenience, Dallas and Cordelia both sound extremely promising, what is not to like? Then Cordelia's fears started to get on my nerves. I tried to be more understanding of her fears, but even I got annoyed. Dallas was a saint.

Cordelia's character started out fine, but once she married Da Ahhhhh it hurts to know that I could have loved the book but somehow something was not right. Cordelia's character started out fine, but once she married Dallas, she kept thinking about how she "could not stay". She was too fearful in the beginning of the marriage, then too much of a ambitious woman once she started with her hotel plan, which Dallas kind of "allowed" to happen. I could see what Lorraine Heath was doing: Cordelia was transforming from a fearful woman to a woman of her own mind, from having little self-esteem to feeling confident and in control of her destiny.

I respect that, but I found it hard to relate to her personal growth. The kind of woman that she was turning to seems too much like a managing sort. And I do despise a manaing sort of a woman. Like I said, I respect her aspirations but find her goal hard to relate to. Dallas wanted a son. This was a theme from book 1. So I was half afraid from the beginning that he would not get his heart's wish.

I won't go into details because that would be spoilerish. While I understood why Heath wrote the story this way, I secretly wish for another ending for Dallas and Cordelia. If we could not have our happily ever after with all our wishes fulfilled in a romance novel, where are we ever going to find it? I am glad that I read the book. It was a good story with intriguing characters. I could not relate to Cordelia but that was a personal thing. However I feel that the story was stuck in some kind of a limbo: it could have been really great but somehow could not get there.


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  7. It just dangled between "good" and "could have been good". I feel that Dallas and Cordelia did not have enough foundation for their "coming together" to be special. And the drama with the pregnancy and Cordelia's despicable brothers were just too over the top and pushed the relationship into the shadow. I feel this is really quite a shame. Dallas deserves a better story, from where I see it.

    But from this book's high rating, I guess most people are happy with his HEA. I for one, wish that he had a different story. Jan 05, Beanbag Love rated it liked it. This is the weakest of the Leigh Family trilogy. Dallas and Dee were completely mismatched for most the story and the entire plot was built on contrivance on top of contrivance.

    One long misunderstanding. I found it incredibly annoying that no one, not even Amelia, clued into the fact that Dee's family would have told her the worst things about Dallas and that someone -- Amelia being the perfect someone -- needed to sit down and talk to her about what she'd been told and sift through fact from fi This is the weakest of the Leigh Family trilogy. I found it incredibly annoying that no one, not even Amelia, clued into the fact that Dee's family would have told her the worst things about Dallas and that someone -- Amelia being the perfect someone -- needed to sit down and talk to her about what she'd been told and sift through fact from fiction with her.

    It didn't make any sense that they just let it sit there. Especially Amelia who's always sticking her nose in everything anyway. Ultimately, I was happy to see them get together. However, as with all stories that are built so inorganically, the ending feels like the point when the story should actually start. Like you've been treading through mud the entire time, and just when all that muck gets cleared up, it's over.

    It's a weak installment in the series, but it's helpful for back story in the next book. And, of course, Houston and Amelia are there and we meet young Rawley Cooper who is a wonderful, poignant character in the story. It's not a waste. It's just not one of Heath's better efforts, IMO. Mar 11, Mariana rated it it was amazing Shelves: americana , marriage-of-convenience , mad-about-series-challenge , western.

    Sooooo good if you are in the mood to cry! Oct 08, Bark rated it it was amazing Shelves: romance. I hate writing reviews about books like Texas Destiny because I know I can't do them justice with my measly vocabulary. Saying it made me laugh, cry, ache and that I never wanted it to end just doesn't seem like enough. The plot revolves around two characters who don't know how to communicate.

    They keep their feelings inside, and tip-toe around other. This type of storyline will normally drive me insane but because Heath gets you into the heads of her people so skillfully you don't question their I hate writing reviews about books like Texas Destiny because I know I can't do them justice with my measly vocabulary. This type of storyline will normally drive me insane but because Heath gets you into the heads of her people so skillfully you don't question their insecurities and faults. I understood, sympathized, ached and got frustrated right along with them - but never at them.

    And at no time did I get the urge to pound them over the head with something. Heath has a way of making me instantly fall in love her characters even though or maybe because? One of the best things about this series is the strong sense of family and the fact that her characters grow and change but don't suddenly turn into different people from one book to another. Dallas's brothers' Austin and Houston and his loving family are a big part of this story and provide humor and poignancy to an already deeply emotional love story.

    I still remember the characters names a day later without notes an amazing feat for my feeble brain, believe me and their lives and personalities still linger in my mind. I wrapped up the book about am last night and today I'm dead tired but it was worth it! I easily give this book my highest rating, it touched me deeply and is one of those rare books that I'm forever searching for and seldom find. View 1 comment. Another beautifully written book in this series. Dallas and Dee were so perfect together, even if they didn't start off that way.

    View 2 comments. Jan 14, Buggy rated it really liked it Shelves: hist-rom , cowboy-up , shelf , western-rom , colonial-frontier. Women however are in short supply in West Texas so when a land rights dispute develops with a neighboring rancher and Dallas learns that the man has a daughter he takes full advantage, essentially trading a parcel of his acreage for her hand in marriage nice! Having grown up with an abusive father Cordelia spends her wedding night hiding under a desk. And this is where I wondered how on earth these two would ever get it together because everything Dallas did only succeeded in pushing his timid wife further away.

    Over time though, Cordelia really comes into her own, given free rein and a little support, her confidence just soars enough so that they begin to relax and enjoy each other, discovering that they work well together. Once again Heath shines at showing our couple slowly falling in love; the changes their personalities go through make it even harder to witness the tragedy that nearly takes everything away. I can no longer give you what you want. As far as historical western romances go this one has it all.

    View all 7 comments. When it rains, it pours. This book was one tragedy after another. Ripped my heart out. Rarely have I met such a mismatched couple in my romance books. They were like two people standing in two opposite sides of the earth and deciding to meet halfway. Dee was a scared woman, closed up in her shell, that turned into an amazing, brilliant, resourceful and fiery person and Dallas had an explosive temper that he managed to control. Dallas has never been my favorite among the brothers. Austin is and Hous When it rains, it pours.

    Texas Glory

    Austin is and Houston comes a close second. However, after reading this book I have finally been able to understand him. He is not cold, he is not unfeeling and he is not angry all the time. He just doesn't know how to express his feelings and give anything but orders. He seems like he's angry all the time when what he really is is frustrated and confused. I wanted to scream at him; tell him that this isn't the way to handle his relationship with his wife, but, in all honesty, Dee and her distrust of him in the first half of the book didn't help much either when all Dallas's ever been is kind and supportive.

    Dallas slowly grew on me and made his way into my heart. All he's ever wanted was a son. A child that he could pass all that he's made out of his life on to. My heart ached for him. I wanted him to get what he wanted, because he was a great man and he deserved it. I still love his brothers a bit more, but Dallas is a great hero on his own. For a moment there I thought I'd love this even more than the first book in the series.

    In the end, it didn't happen, but it was so close. There was so much tragedy and suffering that no matter how much I loved the characters I couldn't always enjoy the book. It left me with a bittersweet feeling. I think a simple "I love you" would have saved them a lot of trouble and pain, but this book was nothing if not intense. I love angst, but I think one mistfortune less or two would have spared my heart a lot of pain. Five stars for one of the most emotional stories ever and for two amazing characters that may have been a bit too stubborn, but managed to overcome the difficulties in their lives and come out winners.

    View all 11 comments. Feb 15, Lover of Romance rated it it was amazing Shelves: topic-western , favorites-shelf , genre-historical-romance , top-favorites. Cordelia McQueen has always been a virtual prisoner in her fathers home. Dee is shocked when her father agrees to give her over to marriage to Dallas Leigh, her family's enemy. Dee is scared to death of this man, and desperately wishes that she was more important to her father than water and land that her father needs for his ranch. Having caring for her mother, after a scuffle with her father, and losing her, and her father broke his promise to her.

    Now she is married to Dallas and everything i Cordelia McQueen has always been a virtual prisoner in her fathers home. Now she is married to Dallas and everything is unfamiliar, and feels more alone than ever. Dallas Leigh is desperate to have a son, and is determined to find a wife, and when he hears that McQueen has a daughter, he trades water rights for Cordelia as his wife. But he never realized how opposite they were from each other, he despises the fear he see's in her eyes and wants to do anything he can to take it from her.

    Dee although in the beginning afraid of her husband, starts to look at him through her own eyes, instead of her brothers eyes, and slowly she starts to get to know him and the fear fades away from her, and a desire that sparks between them, and a tender love that will only strengthen their intimate bond with one another Texas Glory is the second in the Texas series by Lorraine Heath. This is my favorite book written by this author, I just love reading it, and could read it over and over and never be bored by this story.

    This story begins with two people that couldn't be more opposite of each other, and each one has certain dreams, but when they truly come together they manage to have both of their dreams come to life. I found this a powerfully emotional book, that will cling to your heart. It has such a charming note about it, the characters fully of depth and promise, this is truly a sparkling gem that will touch your soul. My Favorite Quote: "You were my dream, Dee.

    I just didn't know it. The part of me that I was always searching for. Jul 12, Mitzi rated it really liked it Shelves: heatsteaming , writer-lorraine-heath , genre-romance-western-contemporary , a-series , a-own-tbr-k1-w-aunt. Loved this book…. Most of the town has never seen her due to her family keeping her secluded.

    He even thinks she has no nose told a story of it being cut off by Indians …. As part of his contract to marry her, he makes a deal with her family to stop Loved this book…. As part of his contract to marry her, he makes a deal with her family to stop cutting his fences, killing his cattle and he agrees to give them land.

    She has courage and wants freedom from her family so badly she is willing to put up with just about anything and anyone. This book also goes on my keeper shelf!!! Mar 30, Aoi rated it really liked it Shelves: hf-america-frontier-wild-west. Texas Glory is another wonderful read in the series- so so emotional that I bawled my way through the last four chapters. This author certainly knows how to turn readers' waterworks on- but the stories are so beautiful, I'm hooked onto them.

    Dallas, the previously uptight and ambitious brother definitely gets his comeuppance. His and Cordelia's path to a life together is paved with miscommunication and heartache. Whereas the first romance Houston and Amelia had this grand, sweeping feel to it- Texas Glory is another wonderful read in the series- so so emotional that I bawled my way through the last four chapters. Whereas the first romance Houston and Amelia had this grand, sweeping feel to it- the swoon factor was turned down a little her because they were two different and incompatible people at first.

    Rawley,the orphan's story, broke my heart- and I'd dearly love to see his story written one day.. This book made me cry, made me laugh, made me want to sob and then smile. Lorraine Heath, as we all know has a knack for writing beautiful stories which are always emotional Coming from someone whose read all her books so trust me, not doing emotional is not her style , Miss Heath's writing struck my heart chords.

    Always does. Texas Glory did the same. I didn't stop reading it until the end. This book really tells us that you should be content and happy with what you have, to dream big but So This book really tells us that you should be content and happy with what you have, to dream big but if you don't fly that high it's still alright, at least for me it's like that. Read this book if you want to remember it forever.

    Oct 28, Kari Kaz rated it it was amazing Shelves: cowboy-west. This is the second book in the Texas Trilogy and this time we get Dallas' story. I loved the chemistry between Dallas and Dee. Their marriage starts off on the wrong foot, with Dee being forced to wed by her father and brothers. As she gets to know Dallas, she realizes what an amazing and generous person he is. His obsession with having a son is endearing because he has so much love to offer. He slowly comprehends that the love of his wife is what truly makes him complete.

    We also get updates on A This is the second book in the Texas Trilogy and this time we get Dallas' story. We also get updates on Austin and Amelia, from the first book. Emo took hold of mainstream pop in the early Aughts but one of its brightest acts was veering towards an exit ramp. In a Spin "Trend of the Year" piece on "mainstreamo" for the magazine's year-end issue Brand New singer and guitarist Jesse Lacey said emo was "becoming like Eighties hair metal all over again.

    All you can really do is try hard to be one of the bands that does manage to stick. The brooding frontman pushed his charms to their edge, but for all the bile he spews in all directions he shows enough vulnerability to make the anguish connect. Through Being Cool paired galloping, hardcore-inflected riffs with Chris Conley's signature caterwaul to create songs that would inspire countless nautical star tattoos. While most frontmen couldn't pull off singing about missing their mom "Shoulder to the Wheel" and metaphorically digging a crush's eyes out with a rusty spoon "Rocks Tonic Juice Magic" , Conley's knack for writing Weezer-worthy hooks to express his self-consciousness is what makes Through Being Cool more than just an important album, it's a rite of passage.

    Nine days and then two half-days. And that includes mixing. Plenty of musicians treated Sunny Day Real Estate like a blueprint and sported their fandom like a badge of honor — but the ones who wore it best were these four youngsters in Austin. They pushed their musical ability to their breaking point, occasionally falling short of the dramatic crests they hoped to attain — the conviction, however, makes the attempts all the more alluring.

    Mineral's hero worship sometimes threatens to blot out their voice — "" opens with a downcast melody eerily similar to SDRE's "Seven" — but they had the good sense to mine shoegaze for euphoria. When Mineral crank up the distortion on "Gloria" and "Parking Lot" The Power of Failing feels bigger than the band that created it — and even the group that came before. Formed by San Diego scene fixtures John Reis and Rick Froberg after the breakup of their band Pitchfork, Drive Like Jehu was the antagonistic, abrasive yin to the rollicking, crowd-pleasing yang of Reis' Rocket From the Crypt — which made it all the more inexplicable that Jehu's masterpiece of a sophomore album wound up on a major label.

    Yank Crime 's songs — all dueling guitars, off-kilter beats and ear-bleeding feedback — alternately feel like grudge matches and endurance tests, with Froberg's upper-register yell cutting swaths through the noise.

    40 Greatest Emo Albums of All Time – Rolling Stone

    It might not be emo proper, but the album would be hugely influential to the Nineties emo underground, as well as to eventual superstars like At the Drive-In and Thursday. Of course, speaking to the San Diego Reader during Jehu's recent reunion, Froberg said the band's plans were never that ambitious: "We wanted to make loud, ugly noise and get our rocks off — that's it.

    Boston transplant Smalley fit right into Washington, D. And Baker, a childhood guitar prodigy who barely scratched the surface of his abilities in Minor Threat, brought a new canvas of chord shapes that raised the game for all hardcore bands afterward. Weezer followed up their power-pop breakthrough with a brilliant sophomore LP that turned out to be one of the finest emo crossovers ever.

    Though the lyrics were occasionally controversial — see the opening lines of "El Scorcho" — the band went harder and heavier with the riffs, and the confessional songs dove into the psyche of a rock star struggling with sudden fame. Affected by the initially negative critiques of Pinkerton as well as the vulnerability of the subject matter, Rivers Cuomo deemed the LP an " embarrassment " in the early millennium. As both critics and fans have changed their opinions of the album over time, so has Cuomo. In fact it was even viewed as a commercial failure when it was released on Capitol Records, despite the fact that the straightforward single "Lucky Denver Mint" received mainstream radio airplay and was featured in the Drew Barrymore film Never Been Kissed.

    However it's the darker, more experimental side like the mid-tempo melodicism of "Believe In What You Want" and the hypnotic minute finale "Goodbye Sky Harbor" which eventually made Clarity a cult classic. The understated gravity of the instrumental title track offers a meditative refuge between the din of the surrounding songs, followed by the tender upswing of "The Day's Refrain. Disarming from the moment the snares kick in, "Understanding in a Car Crash" sees frontman Geoff Rickly tiptoe the line between fearing mortality and surrendering to complete existential resignation.

    His uniquely piercing voice cuts through the sludge-y, pulsating morass of noise of "Cross Out the Eyes" and "Autobiography of a Nation"; then subsides under the sentimental glow of "Standing on the Edge of Summer," depicting a love both mighty and fragile. So you can understand the urgency with which he approached his art. Three Cheers wasn't just a concept record, it was a concept sequel, expanding the small-screen story of 's I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love into a big-budget production, complete with ruminations on life and death "Helena" biting kiss-offs "I'm Not Okay" and a series of dramatic music videos that made them MTV darlings.

    Born of an intense desire for something more and backed by a major-label budget, Three Cheers marked the moment when My Chemical Romance began to realize Way's aspirations, lifting them out of New Jersey and onto the global stage. And though they'd push the boundaries of theatrical rock even further on The Black Parade , their purposeful revolution started here. Fall Out Boy changed the course of emo-punk, pop-punk and pop itself with From Under the Cork Tree , which brought the scene mainstream and led to a surge in popularity for the Fueled By Ramen label.

    None of that happened yet. Jimmy Eat World's album Bleed American propelled them from playing with underground bands like Mineral and Christie Front Drive to full-blown mainstream success — platinum certification, MTV play and a Top 10 single. Hooky anthems like "Sweetness" and "The Middle" saw the band taking the rough-around-the-edges sound of 's Static Prevails and making it accessible enough for anyone pondering buying an iPod.

    But little did anyone know that their first and only proper LP would provide a significant blueprint for dozens of emo and post-hardcore acts to follow. Kinsella's zany lines meet some zanier blasts of French horn in "Basil's Kite. If there is one thing that nobody ever tells you about young love, it's that your days are numbered from the start. Former Cap'n Jazz drummer Mike Kinsella learned this the hard way before graduating high school at 17, prompting one of the most devastating breakup albums in the history of breakup albums. Pulling lyrics straight from his old journal — including heart-stoppingly simple lines like "You can't miss what you forget" — Kinsella shares his teen confessions atop a tightly wound fusion of jazz and math rock.

    He and fellow guitarist Steve Holmes remain in constant dialogue through calculated trills and seamless repetitions, their tension interjected by the occasional trumpet and a Wurlitzer organ, which captures the magnitude better than Kinsella's words. Just as the prospect of college drove the star-crossed lovers apart, its conclusion would force the band to split as well — that is, until their reunion in Braid weren't shy about their Washington, D. Robbins' mix brings drummer Damon Atkinson's wild, asymmetric grooves to the surface, elevating the songs beyond standard-issue melodic hardcore, while the D.

    Jawbreaker's fourth and final release was initially panned by fans for its major label backing and frontman Blake Schwarzenbach's polished vocal stylings. From the moody darkness of "Jet Black" to the upbeat pop-punk of "Bad Scene, Everyone's Fault," Dear You sounds as poetic today as it did 20 years ago.