The Mourning Bride: A Tragedy

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J. Bell, 1797 - 96 pages
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Page 93 - us, who through our innocence survive, Still in the paths of honour persevere, And not from past or present ills despair; for blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds ; And though a late, a sure reward succeeds. EPILOGUE. Spoken by
Page 33 - thee back To earth, to light and life, to love and me. 160 To fold thee thus, to press thy balmy lips, And gaze upon thy eyes, is so much joy, I have not leisure to refleft, or know, Or trifle time in thinking. Aim. Stay a while Let me look on thee yet a little more.
Page 42 - tis glorious ruin ; Ruin ! 'tis still to reign, and to be more A queen ; for what are riches, empire, power, But larger means to gratify the will ? The steps on which we tread, to rise and reach Our wish ; and that obtain'd, down
Page 70 - thou a mother, And step between me and the curse of him Who was—who was, but is no more a father ; But brands my innocence with horrid crimes; And, for the tender names of child and daughter, Now calls me murderer and parricide. King.
Page 47 - The spirit which was deaf to my own wrongs, And the loud cries of my dead father's blood, " Deaf to revenge—nay, which refus'd to hear " The piercing sighs and murmurs of my love •' Yet unenjoy'd ; what not Almeria could " Revive or raise," my people's voice has waken'd.
Page 61 - SCENE I. A Room of State. ZARA, SELIM. Zara. THOU hast already rack'd me with thy stay; Therefore require me not to ask thee twice: Reply at once to all. What is concluded ? Sel. Your accusation highly has incens'd The king, and were alone enough to urge The fate of Osmyn ; but to that, fresh
Page 16 - twas mournful Aim. 'Twas as I have told thee For which I mourn, and will for ever mourn ; Nor will I change these black and dismal robes, Or ever dry these swoln and watery eyes; Or ever taste content, or peace of heart, While I have life, and thought of my Alphonse.
Page 11 - Tis not in harmony to calm my griefs. Anselmo sleeps, and is at peace ; last night The silent tomb receiv'd the good old king; He and his sorrows now are safely lodg'd Within its cold, but hospitable, bosom. Why am not I at peace ? Leon.
Page 7 - Your town's as full of defiles as the Island of Corsica ; and, I believe, they are as obstinately defended : so much hurry, bustle, and confusion on your quays ; so many sugar-casks, porterbutts, and common-council-men in your streets, that, Unless a man marched with artillery in his front, 'tis
Page 14 - grief has hurry'd me beyond all thought. I would have kept that secret ; though I know Thy love, and faith to me deserve all confidence. 80 " But 'tis the wretch's comfort still to have " Some small reserve of near and inward woe, " Some unsuspected hoard of darling grief, " Which they unseen may wail, and weep, and mourn, " And, glutton-like, alone devour.

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