The Belle of the Family; Or, The Jointure: A Novel

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Newby, 1843
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Стр. 117 - tis slander; Whose edge is sharper than the sword ; whose tongue Outvenoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie All corners of the world : kings, queens, and states, Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave This viperous slander enters.
Стр. 89 - Thus, thus, and thus, we compass round Thy harmless and unhaunted ground, And as we sing thy dirge, we will The Daffodill And other flowers lay upon The altar of our love, thy stone.
Стр. 195 - Skill'd by a touch to deepen scandal's tints With all the kind mendacity of hints While mingling truth with falsehood — sneers with smiles — A thread of candour with a web of wiles...
Стр. 61 - God ! it is a fearful thing To see the human soul take wing In any shape, in any mood...
Стр. 109 - Madison dropped into the chair, put his elbows on the table, and buried his face in his hands. She came a little nearer, and laid her hand lightly on his arm. He made a movement as if to take it, but she withdrew it impatiently. "Come," she said brusquely; "now you're in for it you must play the game out.
Стр. 65 - If thou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow to the soul, or a furrow to the "silvered brow of an affectionate parent; if thou art a husband, and hast ever caused the fond bosom that ventured its whole happiness in thy arms to doubt one moment of thy kindness or thy truth...
Стр. 132 - The treasures of the deep are not so precious As are the conceal'd comforts of a man Lock'd up in woman's love. I scent the air Of blessings when I come but near the house. What a delicious breath marriage sends forth! The violet bed's not sweeter.
Стр. 231 - ... thought he meant to kill me. But as he came up he looked down at me with such a sad expression upon his face that all fear left me, and I wondered what he was about. He extended his hand to me, and grasping mine firmly and looking right into my eyes, said, ' My son, I hope you will soon be well.
Стр. 74 - And such is the fate of our life's early promise, So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known ; Each wave, that we danced on at morning, ebbs from us, And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone.
Стр. 65 - Ay, go to the grave of buried love, and meditate ! There settle the account with thy conscience for every past benefit unrequited ; every past endearment unregarded, of that departed being, who can never — never — never return to be soothed by thy contrition!

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