The sun-maid, by the author of 'Artiste'.

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Page 45 - Who, who can count those stars, who that abyss can sound ? Just as a sand 'whelmed in the infinite sea, A ray the frozen iceberg sends to heaven ; A feather in the fierce flame's majesty: A mote, by midnight's maddened whirlwind driven, Am I, midst this parade : an atom, less than nought, Lost and o'erpower'd by the gigantic thought.
Page 82 - Gilbert put his arm round her and drew her close to him, and bent forward and kissed her white forehead several times before he spoke a word.

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