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Abbess abbot Araminta beauty Beneath bliss blue bowers breath bright brow Castilian charm cheek childhood's clasp Clotilda cold Count Otto courser dance dark Digore dragon dream earth eyes faded fair fat friars father fear flings flowers fond frown gazed glance glow gout grew hair half hand hath haunt heard heart heaven hour John Moultrie kiss lady laughed light Lillian lips locks lonely look Lord lover Lurley lute maid maiden minstrel never night Nonny Nonny nought numbers o'er pain pale passion pray prayer quadrille Rhine rose Rossini rove sigh silent sing Sir Harry Sir Isumbras sleep smile song sorrow soul spell steed sweet tail talked tears tell thine thou thought to-day to-night tone tree Troubadour Twas unconscious sleep Vidal voice wake waking eye wander weary ween weep whispered wild wine witchery young youth
Page 213 - If he speaks of a tax or a duty, If he does not look grand on his knees, If he's blind to a landscape of beauty — Hills, valleys, rocks, waters and trees, If he dotes not on desolate towers, If he likes not to hear the blast blow, If he knows not the language of flowers, My own Araminta, say
Page 183 - She smiled on many just for fun, — I knew that there was nothing in it; I was the first, — the only one, Her heart had thought of for a minute. I knew it; for she told me so, In phrase which was divinely moulded; She wrote a charming hand, — and oh!
Page 183 - Fly not yet" — upon the river; Some jealousy of some one's heir, Some hopes of dying broken-hearted, A miniature, a lock of hair, The usual vows,- — and then we parted. We parted; months and years...
Page 168 - And warmed himself in court or college, He had not gained an honest friend, And twenty curious scraps of knowledge ; — If he departed as he came, With no new light on love or liquor, — Good sooth, the traveller was to blame, And not the Vicarage, or the Vicar.
Page 180 - Little. Through sunny May, through sultry June, I loved her with a love eternal ; I spoke her praises to the moon, I wrote them to the Sunday Journal...
Page 213 - No!" He must walk like a god of old story, Come down from the home of his rest; He must smile like the sun in his glory, On the buds he loves ever the best ; And, oh ! from its ivory portal, Like music his soft speech must flow ! — If he speak, smile, or walk like a mortal, My own Araminta, say "No!
Page 169 - And sure a righteous zeal inspired The hand and head that penned and planned them, For all who understood, admired, And some who did not understand them.
Page 171 - Alack the change! in vain I look For haunts in which my boyhood trifled,— The level lawn, the trickling brook, The trees I climbed, the beds I rifled...