Short Story Writers From England

"Deception is always an evil, but in youth — youth, whose very faults should be open-hearted and impetuous, it lays the foundation of the worst possible faults of character."

"The habits of a man accustomed to command — especially on a foreign station, would necessarily be reserved and secluded. Not only accustomed to implicit obedience, but aware of its imperative necessity under the circumstances in which they have been placed, such are apt to expect it from all. Now, what is but the necessary authority in official life, and with man over man, seems harshness when extended to woman."

"How many are there who live eleven months on the hope of the twelfth given to some brief but delightful wandering."

"No one makes the heart of a little home circle entirely their own, without some very sweet gifts of nature — we must love to be beloved."

"(of names) Literary godfathers and godmothers, like those in real life, have much to answer for, on the score of the inappropriate."

""Waverley" was the avater (sic) of a new era ;"

"The fair face painted on the dungeon air, By the strong force of hope, distinct and sweet, Is a good omen. Love mine, I will rest. If my last sleep — it will be full of thee."

"Courage is like an angel at my heart !"

"It is not him, not the bold enemy That rushes fiercely on the healthful breast. For such I have no fear. ’Tis this dull jail That makes the hero and the coward one !"

"Old friend and true companion ! soothing Sleep, Yes fly, like other friends. How easily Did your sweet influence fall on my free head, Cool like a lovely crown of myrtle boughs. Beloved Sleep ! amid the clash of arms, On the rough torrent of unquiet life, I rested, breathing lightly as a child, Weary and cradled in your mother arms. When the storm swept the leaves from off the bough, And rushed thro' crashing branches, yet my heart Was in its depths untroubled, — and I slept."

"Count Egmont's Soliloquy In Prison. [Act 5, Scene 2]"

"Clara: Neighbours, dear friends, ye dream, ye dream : awake! Gaze not on me with sadly wondering eyes, I only bid you to your actual wish. My voice is but the voice of your own hearts."

"Clara: I will speak softly, till our gathered strength Finds in its union voice. Ah, no delay ! The tyranny that dared to fetter wears A midnight dagger."

"Egmont, followed by Clara, Brackenberg, and Citizens. [Act 5, Scene 1]"

"Egmont: The Egmont of yon city — he is proud, And cold, and stern, and sorrowful. He keeps His counsel to himself. He wears a brow That is a smiling shadow to his heart : Perplexed with seeming mirth, that shroudeth care. Exalted by a giddy populace, That know not what they laud, or what they seek. Moving 'mid those who understand him not ; Whom he has naught in common with : and worn By furious guarding 'gainst familiar friends Who seem, yet are not. Watched, suspected, feared ; Wearied with labour, which hath neither end Nor yet reward ; but only distant hope. Such is the Egmont of the field and state. But thine beloved : he is happy, frank, Open, and known to that most dear of hearts — Which he knows, too, and trusts it as his own. Calm, deeply joyful ; such is Egmont now."

"Egmont: Love is not A bird of prey, to pay the hunter's toil — He is best won by those who seek him not."

"Clara: The loving heart delighteth in old songs ; They say so many things we wish to say, And wake our sympathies, and make us feel Less strange ourselves. Others have loved as well, And left these tender relics of their love."

"Scene II. — (Mother, Clara, and afterwards Count Egmont.) [Act 3, Scene 2]"

"Mother: Children and sorrow come together. First Are sleepless nights, and cradle watchings — next Your age is vexed with maiden fantasies, And your girl's lover costeth you more care Than ever did your own. It is not well !"

"Scene I. — (Clara, Mother, Brackenberg) [Act 1, Scene 3]"

"Strength, power, and majesty, belong to man ; They make the glory native to his life ; But sweetness is a woman's attribute — By that she has reigned, and by that will reign."

"The woman raised her languid head, And said, "My child was weak He knew no one amid the dead His daily food to seek ! My husband was a hunter good As ever arrows bore : I know my child will now have food, Therefore I weep no more. I sit and think upon the past, And sing my mournful strain : I know that we shall meet at last, And never part again.""

"In a valley sweet with singing From the hill and from the wood, Where the green moss rills were springing, A wondrous maiden stood. The first lark seemed to carry Her coming through the air ; Not long she wont to tarry, Though she wandered none knew where."

"Sweet Pauline, could I buy thee With gold or its worth, I would not deny thee The wealth of the earth. They talk of the pleasure That riches bestow — Without thee, my treasure, What joy could I know ?"

"While we are laid on the battle plain, Drenched to the skin by the midnight rain, Pleasant dreams may thy slumber crown, As thou sinkest to rest amid silk and down : But shame beside thy pillow stand ! A German maid shall kiss thee not, A German song rejoice thee not, And German wine shall warm thee not ! He who has strength to wield a brand, Let him draw it now for his father-land !"

"What is the light from yon deep wood flashing — What the sound on the wild wind borne ? What the dark ranks that are onwards dashing To the voice of the pealing horn ? Who are they that thundering go ? — It is the Black Hunt of the bold Litzou !"

"I know a lovely little flower, a flower for which I pine — I would go gather it, but bars my heavy hours confine; Oh, grief, when free, how easily that little flower was mine ! . . . Oh, were I sinking to the grave I often ask in vain, And welcome Death stood by to loose the wasted captive's chain — Ah, name me the Forget-me-not, I'd wake to life again!"

"Sleep, little Paul, what, crying, hush ! the night is very dark ; The wolves are near the rampart, the dogs begin to bark ; The bell has rung for slumber, and the guardian angel weeps When a little child beside the hearth so late a play-time keeps."

"Yes, solitude amid her depths has many a hidden balm Guarded for those who leave her not, to strengthen and to calm."

"Dear friend, if it be your's to have in some deep vale a home, Where you may dream of faith and fate, and all the great, to come. If such a place of tranquil rest be to your future given, Where every hour of solitude is consecrate to heaven, Oh, leave it not ! let this vain life fret its few hours afar, Where joy departs, and glory mocks the wide world's weary war Let not its rude and angry tide with jarring torrent wake The silence that the poplars love, of your own limpid lake."

"Merciful God, thou dost not answer me ! I made my choice on earth, and now my heart Has no asylum. Ye decide for me, And such a destiny is best."

"If the wind murmurs then they seem to hear His voice ; and when night falls, the shadows round Seem the dark foldings of his sweeping robe. At noon, when life sees only the clear sky, Feels only the bright sun, the fated one Whom Death hath called, upon the distance marks The heavy shade so soon to shroud All nature from their eyes."

"Religion has no limits, and no bounds;— The vast, the infinite, and the eternal., Never from her may Genius separate. Imagination from its earliest flight, Past o'er the bounds of life : and the sublime Is the reflection of divinity."

"Take ye my solemn farewell ! O, my friends, Already night is darkening on my eyes ;— But is not Heaven most beautiful by night ? Thousands of stars shine in the kindling sky, Which is an azure desert during day. Thus do the gathering of eternal shades Reveal innumerable thoughts, half lost In the full daylight of prosperity."

"What we may do To-morrow may perhaps decide our fate. We may have said but yesterday some word Which may not be recalled."

"Genius doth catch the music of the spheres, Which mortal ear was never meant to know. Genius can penetrate the mysteries Of feeling, all unknown to other hearts; A power hath entered in the inmost soul, Whose presence may not be contained."

"Mysterious enthusiasm, Love ! The heart's supremest power;—which doth combine Within itself religion, poetry, And heroism."

"O Earth ! all bathed with blood and tears, yet never Hast thou ceased putting forth thy fruit and flowers; And hast thou then no pity for mankind ? Can thy maternal breast receive again Their dust, and yet not throb ?"

"O Memory ! noble power ! thy reign is here. Strange destiny, how thus, from age to age, Doth man complain of that which he has lost. Still do departed years, each in their turn, Seem treasures of happiness gone by: And while mind, joyful in its far advance, Plunges amid the future, still the Soul Seems to regret some other ancient home To which it is drawn closer by the past."

"Imagination's truth is from its power: Man's genius can create when nature's felt; He copies when he deems that he invents."

"It is Rome's secret charm to reconcile Imagination with our long last sleep. We are resign'd ourselves, and suffer less For those we love. The people of the South Paint closing life in hues less terrible Than do the gloomy nations of the North : The sun, like glory, even warms the grave."

"That charm of genius, triumph of high art; Poetry's divination, which reveals All nature's secrets, such as influence The heart of man."

"Your Dante ! Homer of the Christian age, The sacred poet of Faith's mysteries— Hero of thought—whose gloomy genius plunged In Styx, and pierced to hell ; and whose deep soul Was like the abyss it fathomed."

"Cradle of Letters ! Mistress of the World ! Soil of the Sun ! Italia! I salute thee ! How oft the human race have worn thy yoke. The vessels of thine arms, thine arts, thy sky !"

"The same, yet not the same — her face Has still that Grecian line ; The sculptured perfectness whose grace Has long been held divine."

"I wrote my name upon the sand; I thought I wrote it on thine heart. I had no touch of fear, that words, Such words, so graven, could depart."

"I dreamed a dream, that I had flung a chain Of roses around Love,—I woke, and found I had chained Sorrow."

"The world is as the sea, in whose salt waves, Like streams, we lose the freshness of our youth."

"I have won him, and shall keep him ; for to his weak temper habit will be as fetters of iron. I have won him — but how? He remembered not the earnest and devoted love of the young heart, which was his, and his only. Even my beauty failed to influence his selfish carelessness : but he is mine by a more potent spell. Love may be given in vain,— beauty may be powerless ; but I have mastered by the deeper magic of flattery."

"None but an ear, quickened as the mind can quicken the faculties of the body, could have heard a step that hesitated on the threshold."