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affection asked beauty believe beloved bitter brow CHAPTER charm cheek child cold colour Constance cousin cried dark dear uncle dearest delight dream Duchess of Marlborough Duke of Wharton Ethel Churchill exclaimed eyes face fair fancy father fear feel felt flattering flowers flung future gaze gloomy hand happiness heart heaven Henrietta honour hope human knew Lady Marchmont Lady Mary laughing light look Lord Bathurst Lord Hervey Lord Marchmont Lord Norbourne loveliness marriage marry Mary Wortley Montague mind misanthropy misery morning mortification mother nature ness never night Norbourne Courtenaye Norbourne's once oriel window overmaster pale passed passion past poet Pope replied Lady round seat seemed selfish shadow shew silence Sir Jasper Meredith smile soft sorrow stood suffering sweet sympathy tears tell tender thing thought truth turbed vanity Walter Maynard weary wish woman word young youth
Page 252 - Full little knowest thou, that hast not tried, What hell it is, in sueing long to bide : To lose good days, that might be better spent; To waste long nights in pensive discontent ; To speed to-day, to he put back to-morrow; To feed on hope, to pine with fear and sorrow; To have thy Prince's grace, yet want her Peers...
Page 79 - Few know of life's beginnings — men behold The goal achieved ; the warrior, when his sword Flashes red triumph in the noonday sun ; The poet, when his lyre hangs on the palm ; The statesman, when the crowd proclaim his voice, And mould opinion, on his gifted tongue ; They count not life's first steps, and never think Upon the many miserable hours When hope deferr'd was sickness to the heart.
Page 193 - tis true — this truth you lovers know — In vain my structures rise, my gardens grow ; In vain fair Thames reflects the double scenes Of hanging mountains, and of sloping greens: Joy lives not here ; to happier seats it flies, And only dwells where Wortley casts her eyes.
Page 37 - My sister's blood ['s] accus'd ; and her fair name, Late chaste as trembling snow, whose fleeces clothe Our Alpine hills, sweet as the rose's spirit, Or violet's cheek, on which the morning leaves A tear at parting, now begins to wither, As it would haste to death and be forgotten. This Florence is a prince that does accuse her ; And such men give not faith to every murmur, Or slight intelligence, that wounds a lady In her dear honour. But she is my sister, Think of that too ; credit not all, but...
Page 180 - Thou who so many favours hast received, Wondrous to tell, and hard to be believed !" cried Lady Mary; " and so, like the culprits of old, you are forced to take refuge from your pursuers, at the altar.
Page 136 - Life has dark secrets ; and the hearts are few / That treasure not some sorrow from the world — A sorrow silent, gloomy, and unknown, Yet colouring the future from the past. We see the eye subdued, the practised smile, The word well weighed before it pass the lip, And know not of the misery within : Yet there it works incessantly, and fears The time to come; for time is terrible, Avenging, and betraying.
Page 200 - My heart is filled with bitter thought, My eyes would fain shed tears ; I have been thinking upon past, And upon future years. Years past — why should I stir the depths Beneath their troubled stream ? And years that are as yet to come, Of them I dread to dream. Yet wherefore pause upon our way ? Tis best to hurry on ; For half the dangers that we fear, We face them, and they're gone. THE morning came when Norbourne Courtenaye was to marry his cousin.
Page 79 - Past pale and anxious by the sickly lamp, Till the young poet wins the world at last, To listen to the music long his own ? The crowd attend the statesman's fiery mind That makes their destiny ; but they do not trace Its struggle, or its long expectancy. Hard are life's early steps ; and, but that youth Is buoyant, confident, and strong in hope, Men would behold its threshold , and despair.
Page 118 - I have no hope in loving thee, I only ask to love ; I brood upon my silent heart, As on its nest the dove ; But little have I been beloved — • Sad. silent, and alone ; And yet I feel, in loving thee, The wide world is my own. Thine is the name I breathe to heaven — Thy face is on my sleep ; I only ask that love like this May pray for thee and weep.