Bulwer Lytton's Drama of The Lady of Lyons; Or, Love and Pride

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Hinton - 63 pages
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Page 39 - For thee I grew A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages. For thee I sought to borrow from each Grace, And every Muse, such attributes as lend Ideal charms to Love. I thought of thee, And passion taught me poesy, — of thee, And on the painter's canvas grew the life Of beauty ! — Art became the shadow Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes ! Men called me vain — some mad — I heeded not ; But still toiled on — hoped on — for it was sweet, If not to win, to feel more worthy, thee...
Page 27 - Oh ! as the bee upon the flower, I hang Upon the honey of thy eloquent tongue ! Am I not blest ? And if I love too wildly, Who would not love thee like Pauline ? MELNOTTE (bitterly).
Page 40 - ... slave ! Despair is free ! I will not tell thee of the throes, the struggles, The anguish, the remorse : No, let it pass ! And let me come to such most poor atonement 40 THE LADY OF LTONS.
Page 39 - Hold, lady! No, not slave! Despair is free! I will not tell thee of the throes — the struggles The anguish — the remorse: No, let it pass! And let me come to such most poor atonement Yet in my power. Pauline!
Page 38 - Enter'd the breast of the wild-dreaming boy ; And from that hour I grew — what to the last I shall be — thine adorer ! Well ; this love, Vain, frantic, guilty, if thou wilt, became A fountain of ambition and bright hope ; I thought of tales that by the winter hearth Old gossips tell — how maidens sprung from Kings Have stoop'd from their high sphere ; how Love, like Death, Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook Beside the sceptre.
Page 27 - To excel them all in love ; we'd read no books That were not tales of love — that we might smile To think how poorly eloquence of words Translates the poetry of hearts like ours...
Page 26 - Nay, dearest, nay, if thou would'st have me paint The home to which, could Love fulfil its prayers, This hand would lead thee, listen !* — A deep vale Shut out by Alpine hills from the rude world ; Near a clear lake, margin'd by fruits of gold And whispering myrtles ; glassing softest skies As cloudless, save with rare and roseate shadows, As I would have thy fate ' PAULINE. My own dear love ! MELNOTTE. A palace lifting to eternal summer Its marble walls, from out a glossy bower Of coolest foliage...
Page 36 - I do not wonder at it; for though my son is not a prince, he ought to be one, and that's almost as good, [Knock at the door.] Ah! here they are. Enter MELNOTTE and PAULINE.
Page 37 - To think how poorly eloquence of words Translates the poetry of hearts like ours! And when night came, amidst the breathless Heavens We'd guess what star should be our home when love Becomes immortal; while the perfumed light Stole through the mists of alabaster lamps , And every air was heavy with the sighs Of orange-groves and music from sweet lutes, And murmurs of low fountains that gush forth I
Page 27 - It is the prince thou lovest, not the man : If in the stead of luxury, pomp, and power, I had painted poverty, and toil, and care, Thou hadst found no honey on my tongue; — Pauline, That is not love ! Pauline.

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