Chapter 2

She sung with great taste and feeling, and with a respect to the sense of what she uttered, that might be proposed in example to ladies of much superior musical talent. Her natural good sense taught her, that if, as we are assured, "music must be married to immortal verse," they are very often divorced by the performer in a most shameful manner. It was perhaps owing to this sensibility to poetry, and combining its expression with those of the musical notes, that her singing gave more pleasure to all the unlearned in music, and even to many of the learned, than could have been communicated by a much finer voice and more brilliant execution, unguided by the same delicacy of feeling.--_Waverley._

Like every beautiful woman, she was conscious of her own power, and pleased with its effects.... But as she possessed excellent sense, she gave accidental circumstances, full weight in appreciating the feeling she aroused.--_Waverley._

There was a soft and pensive grace, A cast of thought upon her face, That suited well the forehead high, The eye-lash dark, and downcast eye; The mild expression spoke a mind In duty firm, composed, resign'd.

_Rokeby, Canto 4._

The rose, with faint and feeble streak So slightly tinged the maiden's cheek, That you had said her hue was pale; But if she faced the summer-gale, Or spoke, or sung, or quicker moved, Or heard the praise of those she loved, Or when of interest was express'd Aught that waked feeling in her breast, That mantling blood in ready play Rivall'd the blush of rising day.

_Rokeby, Canto 4._

What woman knows not her own road to victory?--_The Talisman._

She had been beautiful, and was stately and majestic in her appearance. Endowed by nature with strong powers and violent passions, experience had taught her to employ the one, and to conceal, if not to moderate, the other. She was a severe and strict observer of the external forms, at least, of devotion; her hospitality was splendid, even to ostentation; her address and manners were grave, dignified, and severely regulated by the rules of etiquette.... And yet, with all these qualities to excite respect, she was seldom mentioned in the terms of love or affection. Interest,--the interest of her family, if not her own--seemed too obviously the motive of her actions: and when this is the case, the sharp-judging and malignant public are not easily imposed upon by outward show.--_The Bride of Lammermoor._

Reasoning--like a woman, to whom external appearance is scarcely in any circumstance a matter of unimportance, and like a beauty who has confidence in her own charms.--_Kenilworth._

Her affection and sympathy dictated at once the kindest course. Without attempting to control the torrent of grief in its full current, she gently sat her down beside the mourner.... She waited a more composed moment to offer her little stock of consolation in deep silence and stillness.--_The Betrothed._

Her kindness and her worth to spy You need but gaze on Ellen's eye; Not Katrine in her mirror blue, Gives back the shaggy banks more true, Than every free-born glance confess'd The guileless movements of her breast; Whether joy danced in her dark eye, Or woe or pity claim'd a sigh, Or filial love was glowing there, Or meek devotion pour'd a prayer. Or hate of injury call'd forth The indignant spirit of the North. One only passion unreveal'd, With maiden pride, the maid conceal'd, Yet no less purely felt the flame-- O need I tell that passion's name?

_The Lady of the Lake, Canto 1._

She is fairer in feature than becometh a man of my order to speak of; and she has withal a breathing of her father's lofty spirit. The look and the word of such a lady will give a man double strength in the hour of need.--_The Betrothed._

Her smile, her speech, with winning sway, Wiled the old harper's mood away. With such a look as hermits throw When angels stoop to soothe their woe, He gazed, till fond regret and pride Thrill'd to a tear.

_The Lady of the Lake, Canto 2._

All her soul is in her eye, Yet doubts she still to tender free The wonted words of courtesy. * * * * * Go to her now--be bold of cheer, While her soul floats 'twixt hope and fear: It is the very change of tide, When best the female heart is tried-- Pride, prejudice ... Are in the current swept to sea.

_Rokeby, Canto 2._

She was highly accomplished; yet she had not learned to substitute the gloss of politeness for the reality of feeling.--_Waverley._

A deep-thinking and impassioned woman, ready to make exertions alike, and sacrifices, with all that vain devotion to a favorite object of affection, which is often so basely rewarded.--_The Fortunes of Nigel._

The spotless virgin fears not the raging lion.--_The Talisman._

Sweet was her blue eye's modest smile ... And down her shoulders graceful roll'd Her locks profuse of paly gold ... She charm'd at once, and tamed the heart.

_Marmion, Canto 5._

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.

_Marmion, Canto 2._

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.

_Marmion, Canto 5._

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.

_Marmion, Canto 2._

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.

_The Lay of the Last Minstrel, Canto 3._

Woman's faith and woman's trust, Write the characters in dust.

_The Betrothed._

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.

_Lady of the Lake, Canto 1._

Spoilt she was on all hands.... But though, from these circumstances, the city-beauty had become as wilful, as capricious, and as affected, as unlimited indulgence seldom fails to render those to whom it is extended; and although she exhibited upon many occasions that affectation of extreme shyness, silence, and reserve, which misses are apt to take for an amiable modesty; and upon others, a considerable portion of that flippancy which youth sometimes confounds with wit, she had much real shrewdness and judgment, which wanted only opportunities of observation to refine it--a lively, good-humoured, playful disposition, and an excellent heart.--_The Fortunes of Nigel._

The buoyant vivacity with which she had resisted every touch of adversity, had now assumed the air of composed and submissive, but dauntless, resolution and constancy.--_Rob Roy._

Her complexion was exquisitely fair, but the noble cast of her head and features prevented the insipidity which sometimes attaches to fair beauties. Her clear blue eye, which sat enshrined beneath a graceful eyebrow of brown, sufficiently marked to give expression to the forehead, seemed capable to kindle as well as to melt, to command as well as to beseech.--_Ivanhoe._

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

She was a Phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely Apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair; Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful Dawn; A dancing Shape, and Image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

_A Phantom of Delight._

A gentle maid, whose heart is lowly bred, With joyousness, and with a thoughtful cheer.

_A Farewell._

A Spirit, yet a Woman too! Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin liberty; A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A Creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

_A Phantom of Delight._

Sister ... Thy mind Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms, Thy memory be as a dwelling-place For all sweet sounds and harmonies.

_Tintern Abbey._

She gave me eyes, she gave me ears; And humble cares, and delicate fears; A heart, the fountain of sweet tears; And love and thought and joy.

_The Sparrow's Nest._

'Tis her's to pluck the amaranthine flower Of faith, and 'round the sufferer's temples bind Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.

_Weak is the Will of Man._

I praise thee, Matron! and thy due Is praise.... With admiration I behold Thy gladness unsubdued and bold; Thy looks, thy gestures, all present The picture of a life well spent.

_The Matron of Jedborough._

A blooming girl, whose hair was wet With points of morning due.... Her brow was smooth and white.... * * * * * No fountain from its rocky cave E'er tripped with foot so free, She seemed as happy as a wave, That dances on the sea.

_The Two April Mornings._

The floating clouds their state shall lend To her; for her the willow bend; Nor shall she fail to see, Even in the motions of the storm, Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form By silent sympathy. The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place, Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face. And vital feelings of delight Shall rear her form to stately height, Her virgin bosom swell.

_Three Years She Grew in Sun and Shower._

How blest the Maid whose heart--yet free From Love's uneasy sovereignty-- Beats with a fancy running high, Her simple cares to magnify; Whom Labour, never urged to toil, Hath cherished on a healthful soil; Who knows not pomp, who heeds not pelf; Whose heaviest sin it is to look Askance upon her pretty self Reflected in some crystal brook; Whom grief hath spared,--who sheds no tear But in sweet pity; and can hear Another's praise from envy clear.

_The Three Cottage Girls._

A Being breathing thoughtful breath, A Traveller between life and death; The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; A perfect Woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light.

_A Phantom of Delight._

She was happy, Like a spirit of air she moved, Wayward, yet by all who knew her For her tender heart beloved.

_The Westmoreland Girl._

This light-hearted Maiden.... High is her aim as Heaven above, And wide as either her good-will; And, like the lowly reed, her love Can drink its nurture from the scantiest rill; Insight as keen as frosty star Is to her charity no bar, Nor interrupts her frolic graces.

_The Triad._

O Lady bright, Whose mortal lineaments seem all refined By favouring Nature, and a saintly mind, To something purer and more exquisite Than flesh and blood!

_Sonnet._

A maid whom there wore none to praise And very few to love; A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! Fair as a star when only one Is shining in the sky.

_Poems of the Affections, 8._

Whether in the semblance drest Of Dawn, or Eve, fair vision of the west, Come with each anxious hope subdued, By woman's gentle fortitude, Each grief, through weakness, settling into rest.

_The Triad._

How rich that forehead's calm expanse! How bright that heaven-directed glance!

_Poems of the Affections, 17._

Softly she treads, as if her foot were loth To crush the mountain dew-drops,--soon to melt On the flower's breast; as if she felt That flowers themselves, whate'er their hue, With all their fragrance, all their glistening, Call to the heart for inward listening.

_The Triad._

Let other bards of angels sing, Bright suns without a spot; But thou art no such perfect thing; Rejoice that thou art not!

Heed not though none should call thee fair; So, Mary, let it be If naught in loveliness compare With what thou art to me.

True beauty dwells in deep retreats, Whose veil is unremoved Till heart to heart in concord beats, And the lover is beloved.

_Poems of the Affections, 15._

What heavenly smiles! O Lady mine, Through my very heart they shine; And, if my brow gives back their light, Do thou look gladly on the sight; As the clear moon with modest pride Beholds her own bright beams Reflected from the mountain's side And from the headlong streams.

_Poems of the Affections, 18._

How beautiful when up a lofty height Honour ascends. * * * * * A Widow ... She wasted no complaint, but strove to make A just repayment, both for conscience's sake And that herself and hers should stand upright In the world's eye.

_The Widow._

The Maiden grew Pious and pure, modest and yet so brave, Though young, so wise, though meek, so resolute.

_Grace Darling._

In her face and mien The soul's pure brightness he beheld, Without a veil between.

_The Russian Fugitive._

We her discretion have observed, Her just opinions, delicate reserve, Her patience, and humility of mind. Unspoiled by commendation....

_The Borderers._

O Lady, worthy of earth's proudest throne! Nor less, by excellence of nature, fit Beside an unambitious hearth to sit Domestic queen, where grandeur is unknown; What living man could fear The worst of Fortune's malice, wert thou near, Humbling that lily-stem, thy sceptre meek, That its fair flowers may from his cheek Brush the too happy tear!

_The Triad._

Queen, and handmaid lowly! Whose skill can speed the day with lively cares, And banish melancholy By all that mind invents or hand prepares; * * * * * Who that hath seen thy beauty could content His soul with but a glimpse!

_The Triad._

Dear girl ... If thou appear untouched by solemn thought, Thy nature is not therefore less divine; Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year; And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not.

_Sonnet._

I knew a maid, A young enthusiast ... Her eye was not the mistress of her heart; Far less did rules prescribed by passive taste Or barren, intermeddling subtleties, Perplex her mind; but wise as women are When genial circumstance hath favoured them, She welcomed what was given, and craved no more, Whate'er the scene presented to her view. That was the best, to that she was attuned By her benign simplicity of life, ... God delights In such a being; for her common thoughts Are piety, her life is gratitude.

_The Prelude._

Sweet girl, a very shower Of beauty is thy earthly dower!... Never saw I mien, or face, In which more plainly I could trace Benignity and homebred sense Ripening in perfect innocence. * * * * * A face with gladness overspread! Soft smiles, by human kindness bred! And seemliness complete, that sways Thy courtesies, about three plays.

_To A Highland Girl._

A maiden ... Lovely as spring's first note ... Pure As beautiful, and gentle and benign. * * * * * A Flower.... Fairest of all flowers was she.... She hath an eye that smiles into all hearts, * * * * * Soon would her gentle words make peace.

_The Borderers._

Yes! thou art fair, yet be not moved To scorn the declaration, That sometimes I in thee have loved My fancy's own creation.

Imagination needs must stir; Dear Maid, this truth believe, Minds that have nothing to confer, Find little to perceive.

Be pleased that Nature made thee fit To feed my heart's devotion, By laws to which all forms submit In sky, air, earth, and ocean.

_Poems of the Affections, 16._

THOMAS CARLYLE.

Clearly a superior woman.--That is the way with female intellects when they are good; nothing equals their acuteness, and their rapidity is almost excessive.--_Frederick the Great._

Perfection of housekeeping was her clear and speedy attainment in that new scene. Strange how she made the desert blossom for herself and me there; what a fairy palace she had made of that wild moorland home of the poor man! From the baking of a loaf, or the darning of a stocking, up to comporting herself in the highest scenes or most intricate emergencies, all was insight, veracity, graceful success (if you could judge it), fidelity to insight of the fact given.--_Reminiscences._

Meek and retiring by the softness of her nature, yet glowing with an ethereal ardour for all that is illustrious and lovely.--_Life of Schiller._

She was of a compassionate nature, and had a loving, patient, and noble heart; prudent she was; the skilfulest and thriftiest of financiers; could well keep silence, too, and with a gentle stoicism endure much small unreason.--_Life of Schiller._

Her life was busy and earnest; she was help-mate, not in name only, to an ever-busy man.--_Frederick the Great._

Peculiar among all dames and damosels, glanced Blumine, there in her modesty, like a star among earthly lights. Noblest maiden! whom he bent to, in body and in soul; yet scarcely dared look at, for the presence filled him with painful yet sweetest embarrassment. --_Sartor Resartus._

A bright airy lady; very graceful, very witty and ingenious; skilled to speak, skilled to hold her tongue.--_Frederick the Great._

Far and wide was the fair one heard of, for her gifts, her graces, her caprices; from all which vague colourings of Rumour, from the censures no less than from the praises, had our friend painted for himself a certain imperious Queen of Hearts, and blooming warm Earth-angel, much more enchanting than your mere white Heaven-angels of women, in whose placid veins circulates too little naphtha-fire.--_Sartor Resartus._

A tall, rather thin figure; a face pale, intelligent, and penetrating; nose fine, rather large, and decisively Roman; pair of bright, not soft, but sharp and small black eyes, with a cold smile as of enquiry in them; fine brow; fine chin; thin lips--lips always gently shut, as if till the enquiry were completed, and the time came for something of royal speech upon it. She had a slight accent, but spoke--Dr. Hugh Blair could not have picked a hole in it--and you might have printed every word, so queen-like, gentle, soothing, measured, prettily royal toward subjects whom she wished to love her. The voice was modulated, low, not inharmonious; yet there was something of metallic in it, akin to that smile in the eyes. One durst not quite love this high personage as she wished to be loved! Her very dress was notable; always the same, and in a fashion of its own;--and must have required daily the fastening of sixty or eighty pins.--_Reminiscences._

She had a pleasant, attractive physiognomy; which may be considered better than strict beauty.--_Frederick the Great._

That light, yet so stately form; those dark tresses, shading a face where smiles and sun-light played over earnest deeps.... He ventured to address her, she answered with attention: nay, what if there were a slight tremour in that silver voice; what if the red glow of evening were hiding a transient blush!--_Sartor Resartus._

The whims of women must be humoured.--_French Revolution._

A woman of many household virtues; to a warm affection for her children and husband she joined a degree of taste and intelligence which is of much rarer occurrence.--_Life of Schiller._

She is meek and soft and maiden-like.... A young woman fair to look upon.

_Life of Schiller._

My dear mother, with the trustfulness of a mother's heart, ministered to all my woes, outward and inward, and even against hope kept prophesying good.--_Reminiscences._

Women are born worshippers; in their good little hearts lies the most craving relish for greatness; it is even said, each chooses her husband on the hypothesis of his being a great man--in his way. The good creatures, yet the foolish!--_Essay on Goethe's Works._