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Page 388 - She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love : A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky.
Page 268 - And in her fifteenth year became a bride, Marrying an only son, Francesco Doria, Her playmate from her birth, and her first love. Just as she looks there, in her bridal dress, She was ;• — all gentleness, all gaiety, Her pranks the favourite theme of every tongue. But now the day was come, the day, the hour ; Now frowning, smiling for the hundredth...
Page 268 - Twas but that instant she had left Francesco, Laughing and looking back and flying still, Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger. But now, alas, she was not to be found ; Nor from that hour could...
Page 268 - Scripture-stories from the life of Christ ; A chest that came from Venice, and had held The ducal robes of some old ancestor.
Page 18 - Of right good will thy simple token. And thou must laugh, and wrestle too, A mimic warfare with me waging ! To make, as wily lovers do, Thy after kindness more engaging ! The wilding rose — sweet as thyself — And new-cropt daisies are thy treasure ; I'd gladly part with worldly pelf, To taste again thy youthful pleasure. But yet, for all thy merry look. Thy frisks and wiles, the time is coming. When thou shalt sit in cheerless nook, The weary spell or hornbook thumbing.
Page 212 - Keyne," quoth the Cornishman, "many a time Drank of this crystal Well ; And before the angel summoned her She laid on the water a spell : " If the husband, of this gifted Well Shall drink before his wife, A happy man henceforth is he, For he shall be master for life.
Page 144 - And Boaz said unto her, At mealtime come thou hither, and eat of the bread, and dip thy morsel in the vinegar. And she sat beside the reapers : and he reached her parched corn, and she did eat, and was sufficed, and left.
Page 114 - Even now what affections the violet awakes; What loved little islands, twice seen in their lakes, Can the wild water-lily restore ; What landscapes I read in the primrose's looks, And what pictures of pebbled and minnowy brooks, In the vetches that tangled their shore. Earth's cultureless buds, to my heart ye were dear, Ere the fever of passion, or ague of fear, Had scathed my existence's bloom ; Once I welcome you more, in life's passionless stage, With the visions of youth to revisit my age, And...
Page 267 - Beware !" Her vest of gold Broidered with flowers, and clasped from head to foot, An emerald-stone in every golden clasp ; And on her brow, fairer than alabaster, A coronet of pearls. But then her face, So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth, The overflowings of an innocent heart — It haunts me still, though many a year has fled, Like some wild melody.