This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1820 Excerpt: ... praises she deserved, He deemed she was the fairest of the fair; Perfect each word, look, motion, gesture, air--And I have heard him say, her native tone Was a pathetic simpleness so rare, It fell like music o'er deep billows blown, That such another voice was--O no, never known! XLII. And in their long, long walk at ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1820 Excerpt: ... praises she deserved, He deemed she was the fairest of the fair; Perfect each word, look, motion, gesture, air--And I have heard him say, her native tone Was a pathetic simpleness so rare, It fell like music o'er deep billows blown, That such another voice was--O no, never known! XLII. And in their long, long walk at summer-eve Beside the temple, in the accustomed wood, Whose was the leaf which opened would relieve Alonzo's fearful and desponding mood?--To her he read, with bosom too subdued By what it felt, sweet-stirring at the core, What Campbell's happy hand, benignly good, Drew of the tenderness which Gertrade bore, Ajut's departing sail, or weeping Ellenore. XLIII. And ever from his lid a tear would slide Which he could not repress, he knew not why, And Campbell, Ion, valley, temple, tide, Swum in a Paradise of beauty by. And on the air would fall the unbidden sigh, Till Ion trembled, and no more the page, Bent at the passage wet by either eye, The excess of praise or pity could engage, Too dear the glancing war which their dark pupils wage. XLIV. Are they on earth or in the court of heaven? A thought to be imagined, not expressed! But with their rapture a decay is given, Or bliss would so annihilate the blest. Love is the Aloe of an age at best, Its leaf may for a century be greenThat for which Youth is ever on the quest, Its present flower--tomorrow but has been, So must it fare with those who linger in that scene. XLV. It came at last, the melancholy hour Dreaded so long, and it was death to part; O had he never known the passion's power, Than feel the struggles of a bursting heart! He passed away and never told his smart, One kiss he stole, and thrice returned to tell By nought but sighs, a gaze, a pause, a start, A gushing tear, the mastery of t...
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