Anecdotes of the Aristocracy: And Episodes in Ancestral Story, Volume 2

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Henry Colburn, 1849 - Anecdotes
 

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Page 188 - She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps. And lovers around her are sighing; But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, For her heart in his grave is lying.
Page 401 - 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 402 - Another age shall see the golden ear Imbrown the slope, and nod on the parterre, Deep harvests bury all his pride has plann'd, And laughing Ceres reassume the land.
Page 402 - ... 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 186 - To render her widowed situation more desolate, she had incurred her father's displeasure by her unfortunate attachment, and was an exile from the paternal roof. But could the sympathy and kind offices of friends have reached a spirit so shocked and driven in by horror, she would have experienced no want of consolation, for the Irish are a people of •quick and generous sensibilities.
Page 186 - 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 399 - How lov'd, how honour'd once, avails thee not, To whom related, or by whom begot ; A heap of dust alone remains of thee, 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be ! Poets themselves must fall, like those they sung, Deaf the prais'd ear, and mute the tuneful tongue.
Page 48 - The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation ; that away, Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.
Page 1 - We must pronounce Miss Strickland beyond all comparison the most entertaining historian in the English language. She is certainly a woman of powerful and active mind, as well as of scrupulous justice and honesty of purpose.
Page 398 - Commend me to thy lovely lady, Bear to her this chain of gold; And these bracelets for a token; Grieving that I was so bold: All my jewels in like sort take thou with thee, For they are fitting for thy wife, but not for me.

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