The Parson's Daughter, Volume 2

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Carey, Lea & Blanchard, 1833
 

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Page 93 - Be sure you are off with the old love before you are on with the new...
Page 193 - Forget not he was once so dear. 0 h, think of former happy days, When none could breathe a dearer name ; And if you can no longer praise, Be silent, and forbear to blame ! He may be all that you have heard ; If proved, 'twere folly to defend: Yet pause ere you believe one word Breathed 'gainst the honour of a friend. How many seem in haste to tell What friends can never wish to know ! / answer — once I knew him well, And then, at least, it was not so.
Page 168 - Prepare, then, wretched prince, prepare to hear A story, that shall turn thee into stone. Could there be hewn a monstrous gap in nature, A flaw made through the centre by some God, Through which the groans of ghosts may strike thy ears, They would not wound thee, as this story will.
Page 92 - Then you'll remember too, he was a man That liv'd up to the standard of his honour, And priz'd that jewel more than mines of wealth: He'd not have done a shameful thing but once, Though kept in darkness from the world, and hidden, He could not have forgiven it to himself; This was the only portion that he left us ? And I more glory...
Page 113 - If She inspire, and He approve my lays. Say what strange motive, Goddess ! could compel A well-bred Lord t'assault a gentle Belle...
Page 18 - Bound o'er the sparkling waves. Go, happy bark, Thy sacred freight shall still the raging main. To guide thy passage shall th...
Page 103 - But on this everlasting separation, Methinks my soul has left me, and my time Of dissolution points me to the grave. Theo. O my Varanes, does not now thy temper Bate something of its fire ? dost thou not melt In mere compassion of my sisters' fate, And cool thyself with one relenting thought?
Page 10 - Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears ; Nor tongue, to tell me who hath martyred thee : Thy husband he is dead ; and for his death Thy brothers are condemned, and dead by this. Look, Marcus ! ah, son Lucius, look on her ! When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey-dew Upon a gathered lily almost withered.

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