Margaret Capel. By the author of 'The clandestine marriage'.

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Page 79 - O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem By that sweet ornament which truth doth give ! The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live. The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye As the perfumed tincture of the roses, Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly When summer's breath their masked buds discloses: But, for their virtue only is their show, They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade; Die to themselves.
Page 3 - For not to think of what I needs must feel, But to be still and patient, all I can; And haply by abstruse research to steal From my own nature all the natural man — This was my sole resource, my only plan: Till that which suits a part infects the whole, And now is almost grown the habit of my soul.
Page 90 - Lieben Freunde! Es gab schön're Zeiten, Als die unsern - das ist nicht zu streiten! Und ein edler Volk hat einst gelebt. Könnte die Geschichte davon schweigen, Tausend Steine würden redend zeugen, Die man aus dem Schoß der Erde gräbt. Doch es ist dahin, es ist verschwunden Dieses hochbegünstigte Geschlecht. Wir, wir leben\ Unser sind die Stunden, Und der Lebende hat Recht.
Page 3 - Where'er we gaze, around, above, below, What rainbow tints, what magic charms are found : Rock, river, forest, mountain, all abound, And bluest skies that harmonize the whole : Beneath, the distant torrent's rushing sound Tells where the volumed cataract doth roll Between those hanging rocks, that shock yet please the soul.
Page 236 - Un frenesi. ^Que es la vida? Una ilusion. Una sombra, una ficcion y el mayor bien es pequeno, Que toda la vida es sueno, y los suenos, suenos son.
Page 279 - To use him so that used her so well; Or who with blame can justly her upbraid For loving not? for who can love compel? And, sooth to say, it is foolhardy thing...
Page 235 - twixt him and Margaret. Mar. Why, thinks King Henry's son that Margaret's love Hangs in th' uncertain balance of proud time ? That death shall make a discord of our thoughts ? No, stab the earl, and 'fore the morning sun Shall vaunt him thrice over the lofty east, Margaret will meet her Lacy in the heavens.
Page 264 - Her words were like a stream of honey fleeting, The which doth softly trickle from the hive, Able to melt the hearer's heart unweeting, And eke to make the dead again alive. Her deeds were like great clusters of ripe grapes, Which load the...
Page 39 - ... set: Bay leaves between, And primroses green, Embellish the sweet violet. " Tell me, have ye seen her angelic face, Like Phoebe fair? Her heavenly 'haviour, her princely grace, Can you well compare? The red rose medled with the white yfere, In either cheek depeincten lively cheer: Her modest eye, Her majesty, Where have you seen the like but there?

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