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already army Author bear Beauseant and Glavis beautiful birth bless blows carriage child Claude Claude Melnotte Colonel cousin DAMAS dared daughter dear death Deschappelles Enter Exeunt Exit eyes father fear fellow flowers forget forgive fortune French Gardens GASPAR girl give hand happy hear heart Heaven Highness honour hope hour husband Italy lady LANDLORD leave less letter live look Lyons MADAME DESCHAP marry MELNOTTE MONS Monsieur Morier mother never noble OFFICER once PAULINE perhaps Play poor post 8vo pride Prince proud rank Ready refused revenge ring saved SCENE scorn Second sent servant shame smile soldier speak sure sweet tell thee thou art thou hast thou wilt thought Three true turned Volumes WIDOW wife wish woman wonder young
60 ページ - Enter'd the breast of the wild-dreaming boy ; And from that hour I grew — what to the last I shall be — thine adorer ! Well ; this love, Vain, frantic, guilty, if thou wilt, became A fountain of ambition and bright hope ; I thought of tales that by the winter hearth Old gossips tell — how maidens sprung from Kings Have stoop'd from their high sphere ; how Love, like Death, Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook Beside the sceptre.
18 ページ - That which the Queen of Navarre sent to the poor troubadour: — "Let me see the Oracle that can tell nations I am beautiful ! " She will admit me. I shall hear her speak — I shall meet her eyes — I shall read upon her cheek the sweet thoughts that translate themselves into blushes. Then — then, oh, then — she may forget that I am the peasant's son ! Widow.
12 ページ - ... he learned to paint; and at last it was said that young Claude was to go to Paris, and set up for a painter. The lads laughed at him at first; but he is a stout fellow, is Claude, and as brave as a lion, and soon taught them to laugh the wrong side of their mouths; and now all the boys swear by him, and all the girls pray for him.
98 ページ - Pauline. His love! Talk not of love. Love has no thought of self! Love buys not with the ruthless usurer's gold The loathsome prostitution of a hand Without a heart? Love sacrifices all things To bless the thing it loves! He knows not love. Father, his love is hate — his hope revenge!
59 ページ - I' the midst of roses ! Dost thou like the picture ?" This is my bridal home, and thou my bridegroom ! 0 fool — O dupe — O wretch ! — I see it all — The bye-word and the jeer of every tongue In Lyons. Hast thou in thy heart one touch Of human kindness ? if thou hast, why, kill me, And save thy wife from madness. No, it cannot — It cannot be : this is some horrid dream : 1 shall wake soon.
36 ページ - This hand would lead thee, listen !* a deep vale Shut out by Alpine hills from the rude world ; Near a clear lake, margined by fruits of gold And whispering myrtles ; glassing softest skies As cloudless, save with rare and roseate shadows, As I would have thy fate ! PAULINE. My own dear love ! MELNOTTE. A palace lifting to eternal summer Its marble walls, from out a glossy bower Of coolest foliage musical with birds...
37 ページ - To think how poorly eloquence of words Translates the poetry of hearts like ours ! And when night came, amidst the breathless Heavens We'd guess what star should be our home when love Becomes immortal ; while the perfumed light Stole through the mists of alabaster lamps, And every air was heavy with the sighs Of orange groves and music from sweet lutes, And murmurs of low fountains that gush forth I
59 ページ - Pauline, by pride — Angels have fallen ere thy time : by pride — That sole alloy of thy most lovely mould — The evil spirit of a bitter love, And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee. From my first years my soul was filled with thee : I saw thee 'midst the flowers the lowly boy Tended, unmarked by thee — a spirit of bloom, And joy, and freshness, as if Spring itself Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape! I saw thee, and the passionate heart of man Entered the breast of the wild-dreaming...
18 ページ - See, this is her image — painted from memory. — Oh, how the canvas wrongs her ! (Takes up the brush and throws it aside.} I shall never be a painter. I can paint no likeness but one, and that is above all art. I would turn soldier — France needs soldiers ! But to leave the air that Pauline breathes ! What is the hour ? — so late ? I will tell thee a secret, mother.