The Heiress: A Novel, 1±Ç

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Harper & Brothers, 1834

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5 ÆäÀÌÁö - And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent ! THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT.
3 ÆäÀÌÁö - SHE walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies ; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes : Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
62 ÆäÀÌÁö - A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet.; A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food. For transient sorrows, simple wiles. Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
62 ÆäÀÌÁö - Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, from afar, Comes down upon the waters; all its hues, From the rich sunset to the rising star, Their magical variety diffuse: And now they change ; a paler shadow strews Its mantle o'er the mountains; parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues •*> With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, — till — 'tis gone — and all is gray.
62 ÆäÀÌÁö - A being breathing thoughtful breath, A traveller betwixt life and death; The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a spirit still, and bright With something of an angel light.
2 ÆäÀÌÁö - The torch shall be extinguish'd which hath lit My midnight lamp— and what is writ, is writ; Would it were worthier; but I am not now That which I have been — and my visions flit Less palpably before me — and the glow Which in my spirit dwelt is fluttering, faint, and low.
2 ÆäÀÌÁö - My task is done, my song hath ceased, my theme Has died into an echo; it is fit The spell should break of this protracted dream. The torch shall be extinguish'd which hath lit My midnight lamp— and what is writ, is writ; Would it were worthier...
100 ÆäÀÌÁö - BE you to others kind and true, As you'd have others be to you; And neither do nor say to men Whate'er you would not take again.
102 ÆäÀÌÁö - To Woman, whose best books are human hearts, Wise heaven a genius less profound imparts. His awful, her's is lovely ; his should tell How thunderbolts, and her's how roses fell. Her rapid mind decides while his debates, She feels a truth that he but calculates. — He provident, averts approaching ill, She snatches present good with ready skill : That active perseverance his, which gains, And her's that passive patience which sustains.
115 ÆäÀÌÁö - Nor peace, nor ease, the heart can know, That, like the needle true, Turns at the touch of joy or woe, But turning, trembles too.

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