At length, an effort sent apart The blood that curdled to her heart, And light came to her eye, And color dawn'd upon her cheek, A hectic and a flutter'd streak. * * * * * And when her silence broke at length, Still as she spoke she gather'd strength, And arm'd herself to bear;-- It was a fearful sight to see Such high resolve and constancy, In form so soft and fair.
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh, With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.
Her very soul is in home, and in the discharge of all those quiet virtues of which home is the centre. Her husband will be to her the object of all her care, solicitude, and affection. She will see nothing, but by him, and through him. If he is a man of sense and virtue, she will sympathize in his sorrows, divert his fatigue, and share his pleasures. If she becomes the property of a churlish or negligent husband, she will suit his taste also, for she will not long survive his unkindness.--_Waverley._
When there can be no confidence betwixt a man and his plighted wife, it is a sign she has no longer the regard for him that made their engagement safe and suitable.--_The Heart of Mid-Lothian._
She was by nature perfectly good-humoured, and if her due share of admiration and homage was duly resigned to her, no one could possess better temper, or a more friendly disposition; but then, like all despots, the more power that was voluntarily yielded to her, the more she desired to extend her sway. Sometimes, even when all her ambition was gratified, she chose to be a little out of health, and a little out of spirits.--- _The Talisman._
Her look composed, and steady eye, Bespoke a matchless constancy.
The noble dame, amid the broil, Shared the gray seneschal's high toil, And spoke of danger with a smile; Cheer'd the young knights, and council sage Held with the chiefs of riper age.
Woman's faith and woman's trust, Write the characters in dust.
Ne'er did Grecian chisel trace A Nymph, or Naiad, or a Grace, Of finer form, or lovelier face! What though the sun, with ardent frown, Had slightly tinged her cheek with brown, The sportive toil, which, short and light Had dyed her glowing hue so bright, Served too in hastier swell to show Short glimpses of a breast of snow; What though no rule of courtly grace To measured mood had train'd her pace,-- A foot more light, a step more true, Ne'er from the heath-flower dash'd the dew; E'en the slight hare-bell raised its head, Elastic from her airy tread; What though upon her speech there hung The accent of the mountain tongue, Those silver sounds, so soft, so clear, The list'ner held his breath to hear.