Madeline Clare; or, The important secret, Том 31856 |
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accents Avignon beau ideal beauty believe Bertram bitter broken Burnett Butler calm CHAPTER cheek child cold consola Constance dark death deep despair destiny dream earth Eastnor Ellinor emotion England eyes face faith fancy father Fawleigh fear feel felt flower flush forehead gaze gentle glowing golden grave grief GROSVENOR SQUARE happiness Harwood heard heart heaven Helen Herbert Temple holy hope hour husband knew Lady Caroline Lady Fortescue letter light listened live looked Mabel Madeline Clare Madeline's marriage Matcombe mind mists morning mother never night once pale passed passionately past paused Petrarch Philip Clarges poor prayer rapturous returned rose Scotland seemed shone sorrow soul spirits step strange suffered summertide sunrays sweet sympathy tears tell tender terraced gardens thought tion told Tractarian trembling trust truth turned Venice Vivian voice wedding Whig wife wild woman words youth
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Стр. 117 - Oh how unlike the complex works of man, Heaven's easy, artless, unencumbered plan ! No meretricious graces to beguile, No clustering ornaments to clog the pile ; From ostentation, as from weakness, free, It stands like the cerulean arch we see, Majestic in its own simplicity. Inscribed above the portal, from afar Conspicuous as the brightness of a star, Legible only by the light they give, Stand the soul-quickening words — BELIEVE, AND LIVE.
Стр. 290 - The worst to hear, because it must dissemble — We might have been ! Life is made up of miserable hours, And all of which we craved a brief possessing, For which we wasted wishes, hopes, and powers, Comes with some fatal drawback on the blessing.
Стр. 290 - The shadow of what thought obscures the vision! We might have been ! A cold fatality attends on love, Too soon or else too late the heart-beat quickens ; The star which is our fate springs up above, And we but say, while round the vap'our thickens, We might have been...
Стр. 200 - ... graceful sarabands, Smiled on the canvass ; but apart Was one who leant in silent mood, As revelry to his sick heart Were worse than veriest solitude. Pale, dark-eyed, beautiful, and young, Such as he had shone o'er my slumbers, When I had only slept to dream Over again his magic numbers. Divinest Petrarch ! he whose lyre, Like morning light, half dew, half fire, To Laura and to love was vowed...
Стр. 200 - Upon the sun-touched nectarine ; A lip of perfume and of dew ; A brow like twilight's darkened line. I strove to catch each charm that long Has lived, — thanks to her lover's song ! Each grace he numbered one by one, That shone in her of Avignon. I ever thought that poet's fate Utterly lone and desolate. It is the spirit's bitterest pain To love, to be beloved again ; And yet between a gulf which ever The hearts that burn to meet must sever. And he was vowed to one sweet star, Bright yet to him,...