The New Timon: A Poetical Romance. And the Lady of Lyons, Or Love and Pride; a Play

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Tauchnitz, 1849 - 312 oldal
 

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269. oldal - Was my own lord. Then did I seek to rise Out of the prison of my mean estate. And, with such jewels as the exploring Mind Brings from the caves of Knowledge, buy my ransom From those twin gaolers of the daring heart, — Low Birth and iron Fortune.
300. oldal - Oh, woman! woman! thou shouldst have few sins Of thine own to answer for! Thou art the author Of such a book of follies in a man, That it would need the tears of all the angels To blot the record out!
268. oldal - Enter'd the breast of the wild-dreaming boy ; And from that hour I grew — what to the last I shall be — thine adorer ! Well ; this love, Vain, frantic, guilty, if thou wilt, became A fountain of ambition and bright hope ; I thought of tales that by the winter hearth Old gossips tell — how maidens sprung from Kings Have stoop'd from their high sphere ; how Love, like Death, Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook Beside the sceptre.
312. oldal - Daily and nightly, poured a mourner's prayers ; Tell him, ev'n now, that I would rather share His lowliest lot, — walk by his side an outcast, — Work for him, beg with him, — live upon the light ' Of one kind smile from him, than wear the crown The Bourbon lost ! Melnotte [aside.] Am I already mad?
274. oldal - What is past is past. There is a future left to all men, who have the virtue to repent, and the energy to atone. Thou shalt be proud of thy son yet. Meanwhile, remember this poor lady has been grievously injured. For the sake of thy son's conscience, respect, honour, bear with her.
243. oldal - I honour the laurels that overshadow the graves of our fathers ; — it is our fathers I emulate, when I desire that beneath the evergreen I myself have planted my own ashes may repose ! Dearest ! couldst thou but see with my eyes ! Pauline. I cannot forego pride when I look on thee, and think that thou lovest me. Sweet Prince, tell me again of thy palace by the Lake of Como ; it is so pleasant to hear of thy...
269. oldal - Glass'd in my soul, took all the hues of glory, And lured me on to those inspiring toils By which man masters men! For thee I grew A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages. For thee I sought to borrow from each grace, And every muse, such attributes as lend Ideal charms to love. I thought of thee, And passion taught me poesy — of thee, And on the painter's canvas grew the life Of beauty! Art became the shadow Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes! Men call'd me vain — some mad — I heeded...
244. oldal - We'd have no friends That were not lovers ; no ambition, save To excel them all in love ; we'd read no books That were not tales of love — that we might smile To think how poorly eloquence of words Translates the poetry of hearts like ours ' And when night came, amidst the breathless Heavens We'd...
280. oldal - Know that I would rather starve — yes ! with him who has betrayed me, than accept your lawful hand, even were you the Prince whose name he bore ! Go ! Beauseant. What, is not your pride humbled yet? Pauline. Sir, what was pride in prosperity, in affliction becomes virtue.
243. oldal - This hand would lead thee, listen !* a deep vale Shut out by Alpine hills from the rude world ; Near a clear lake, margined by fruits of gold And whispering myrtles ; glassing softest skies As cloudless, save with rare and roseate shadows, As I would have thy fate ! PAULINE. My own dear love ! MELNOTTE. A palace lifting to eternal summer Its marble walls, from out a glossy bower Of coolest foliage musical with birds...

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