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Abbess abbot Araminta beauty Beneath bliss blue bowers breath bright brow charm cheek childhood's clasp Clotilda cold Count Otto courser dance dark Digore dragon dream earth eyes faded fair Fare thee fat friars father fear flings Florence flowers fond frown gazed glance glow gout grew hair half hand hath 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 221 - 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 189 - My mother laughed ; I soon found out That ancient ladies have no feeling : My father frowned ; but how should gout See any happiness in...
Page 220 - If he ever drinks port after dinner, If his brow or his breeding is low, If he calls himself 'Thompson' or 'Skinner', My own Araminta, say 'No!
Page 176 - 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 75 - And rocks whose very crags seem bowers, So gay they are with grass and flowers. But the Abbot was thinking of scenery, About as much, in sooth, As a lover thinks of constancy, Or an advocate of truth. He did not mark how the skies in wrath Grew dark above his head ; He did not mark how the mossy path Grew damp beneath his tread ; And nearer he came, and still more near, To a pool, in whose recess The water had slept for many a year, Unchanged, and motionless ; From the river stream it spread...
Page 187 - Dark was her hair, her hand was white ; Her voice was exquisitely tender ; Her eyes were full of liquid light ; I never saw a waist so slender ! Her every look, her every smile, Shot right and left a score of arrows ; I thought 'twas Venus from her isle, And wondered where she'd left her sparrows.
Page 74 - Companionless, for a mile or more, He traced the windings of the shore. Oh, beauteous is that river still, As it winds by many a sloping hill, And many a dim o'er-arching grove, And many a flat and sunny cove, And terraced lawns whose bright arcades The honey-suckle sweetly shades, And rocks whose very crags seem bowers, So gay they are with grass and flowers.
Page 221 - 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 179 - At his approach complaint grew mild, And when his hand unbarred the shutter, The clammy lips of fever smiled The welcome which they could not utter. He always had a tale for me Of Julius Caesar or of Venus : From him I learned the rule of three, Cat's cradle, leap-frog, and qua genus; I used to singe his powdered wig, To steal the staff he put such trust in ; And make the puppy dance a jig When he began to quote Augustine.