Aline, an old friend's story, by the author of 'The gambler's wife'.

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Page 229 - O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide, Than public means, which public manners breeds. Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdued To what it works in, like the dyer's hand...
Page 121 - But music for the time doth change his nature. The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils : The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And his affections dark as Erebus. Let no such man be trusted.
Page 42 - That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please. Give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee.
Page 88 - Oh find me, prosperous or undone ! Or, if the grave be now thy bed, Why am I ignorant of the same, That I may rest ; and neither blame Nor sorrow may attend thy name ? Seven years, alas ! to have received No tidings of an only child ; To have...
Page 45 - Weep ye not for the dead, neither bemoan him: but weep sore for him that goeth away: for he shall return no more, nor see his native country.
Page 257 - Did I but purpose to embark with thee On the smooth surface of a summer's sea ; While gentle zephyrs play in prosperous gales, And fortune's favour fills the swelling sails ; But would forsake the ship, and make the shore, When the winds whistle, and the tempests roar...
Page 182 - And all the ways of men, so vain and melancholy. But as it sometimes chanceth, from the might Of joy in minds that can no further go, As high as we have mounted in delight In our dejection do we sink as low; To me that morning did it happen so; And fears and fancies thick upon me came; Dim sadness— and blind thoughts, I knew not, nor could name.
Page 144 - I know you, Clara Vere de Vere, You pine among your halls and towers : The languid light of your proud eyes Is wearied of the rolling hours. In glowing health, with boundless wealth, But sickening of a vague disease, You know so ill to deal with time, You needs must play such pranks as these.
Page 215 - But hail, thou goddess sage and holy, Hail, divinest Melancholy! Whose saintly visage is too bright To hit the sense of human sight, And therefore to our weaker view O'erlaid with black, staid wisdom's hue; Black, but such as in esteem Prince...

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