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Page 385 - So proud, so grand ; of that stupendous air, Soft and agreeable come never there. Greatness, with Timon, dwells in such a draught As brings all Brobdignag before your thought. To compass this, his building is a town, His pond an ocean, his parterre a down : Who but must laugh, the master when he sees, A puny insect, shivering at a breeze ! Lo, what huge heaps of littleness around ! The whole, a labour'd quarry above ground.
Page 181 - In a word he at length succeeded in gaining her hand, though with the solemn assurance that her heart was unalterably another's. He took her with him to Sicily, hoping that a change of scene might wear out the remembrance of early woes. She was an amiable and exemplary wife, and made an effort to be a happy one; but nothing could cure the silent and devouring melancholy that had entered into her very soul.
Page 386 - ... and endeavour to make that disbelieved which he never had confidence openly to deny. He wrote an exculpatory letter to the duke, which was answered with great magnanimity, as by a man who accepted his excuse without believing his professions.
Page 180 - The person who told me her story had seen her at a masquerade. There can be no exhibition of far-gone wretchedness more striking and painful than to meet it in such a scene. To find it wandering like a spectre, lonely and joyless, where all around is gay, — to see it dressed out in the trappings of mirth, and looking so wan and wo-begone, as if it had tried in vain to cheat the poor heart into a momentary forgetfulness of sorrow.
Page 44 - The purest treasure mortal times afford Is — spotless reputation ; that away, Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.
Page 227 - ... my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chapfallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing. Hor. What's that, my lord? Ham. Dost thou think Alexander looked o'...
Page 183 - Every note which he loved awaking — Ah ! little they think, who delight in her strains, How the heart of the minstrel is breaking ! He had lived for his love, for his country he died — They were all that to life had entwined him ; Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, Nor long will his love stay behind him ! Oh ! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest, When they promise a glorious morrow ; They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the west. From her own loved island of sorrow...
Page 69 - My liege, can you blame the horse to go heavily, when he has the weight of three kingdoms on his back?
Page 180 - The most delicate and cherishing attentions were paid her by families of wealth and distinction. She was led into society, and they tried by all kinds of occupation and amusement to dissipate her grief, and wean her from the tragical story of her loves. But it was all in vain. There are some strokes of calamity that scathe and scorch the soul — that penetrate to the vital seat of happiness — and blast it, never again to put forth bud or blossom.