Cousin Geoffrey, the old bachelor [by H.M.G. Smythies]. To which is added Claude Stocq. Ed. by T. Hook

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Página 213 - Oh, Love! what is it in this world of ours Which makes it fatal to be loved? Ah why With cypress branches hast thou wreathed thy bowers, And made thy best interpreter a sigh? As those who dote on odours pluck the flowers, And place them on their breast — but place to die — Thus the frail beings we would fondly cherish Are laid within our bosoms but to perish.
Página 70 - Do not — do not, dearest mother, urge me to such a union, unless you wish to break my heart. I have been vain and trifling ; I have been pleased with his attentions ; I have courted his admiration ; but I have never intended to deceive him. I would rather earn my bread by the labour of my hands in exile with you, than live in opulence at home as the wife of one I must always honour and esteem, but whom I could never love. Help me then, dearest mother, to escape such a trial as the refusing Cousin...
Página 217 - I have written what / think a tolerable poem," said Geraldine. Antonia frowned — shook her head : she foresaw an erpost, but Geraldine was only urged on, by her sister's wrath. " Do, pray, let us have it," said Wyndham. " Oh, do," said Juliet. She good-naturedly complied ; but had scarcely begun, with great pomposity, the well-known lines — " A warrior so bold, and a virgin BO bright, Conversed as they sate on the green — " when, spite of all their efforts, Juliet, Blanche, and Wyndham, burst...
Página 59 - And then she added to herself, " I will ask him firmly who this Lady Marian is, or was — it is but just to him — I feel, I know it is all the vilest slander — he is, he must be, the soul of honour, virtue, truth ! Bless and shield him, and guide the wretched Juliet in her course ;" saying which, she sank upon her knees and hid her face in her hands. Suddenly, a frantic impatience seized her ; she would see him, she would know all, at once — suspense would be death. She ran downstairs, the...
Página 217 - ... dress in heightening every charm. It was a bright and soft April morning, and the delicate tints which Carson suited to Blanche's complexion, made her look like a sweet personification of Spring. Blanche was obliged to own that there was a science in dress, of which she had never dreamt. Every thing had been studied, each little spring flower in the soft blonde cap which so well harmonized with her golden hair, and the faint blue of her pretty bonnet, the plume which gave a dignity and grace,...

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