“It was a lady on horseback, accompanied by a country-man as a guide. The lady was dressed in a dark suit and covered with a thick black veil. Agatha asked a question, to which the stranger only replied by pronouncing, in a sweet accent, the name of Felix. Her voice was musical but unlike that of either of my friends. On hearing this word, Felix came up hastily to the lady, who, when she saw him, threw up her veil, and I beheld a countenance of angelic beauty and expression. Her hair of a shining raven black, and curiously braided; her eyes were dark, but gentle, although animated; her features of a regular proportion, and her complexion wondrously fair, each cheek tinged with a lovely pink.
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“Pray tell your sister that I long to see her.”
[Illustration: ] Map, titled “GRÆCIÆ ANTIQUÆ”
The Iliad — Chapter 8: ARGUMENT. (part 2/2)
[Illustration: ] THE COUNCIL OF THE GODS
“He say,” said I, “that you came near kill-e that man there,” pointing to the still shivering greenhorn.
“How dreadful!” exclaimed Lady Agatha. “Really, some one should interfere.”
“For you I would throw over anybody, Duchess,” said Lord Henry with a bow.
“And where did you come across her?”
The sire of gods and men superior smiled, And, calling Venus, thus address’d his child: “Not these, O daughter are thy proper cares, Thee milder arts befit, and softer wars; Sweet smiles are thine, and kind endearing charms; To Mars and Pallas leave the deeds of arms.”
As he to flight his wheeling car address’d, The speedy javelin drove from back to breast. In dust the mighty Halizonian lay, His arms resound, the spirit wings its way.
“Ah! but you don’t like being kissed, Jim,” she cried. “You are a dreadful old bear.” And she ran across the room and hugged him.
Bold Hector and Ulysses now dispose The lists of combat, and the ground inclose: Next to decide, by sacred lots prepare, Who first shall launch his pointed spear in air. The people pray with elevated hands, And words like these are heard through all the bands: “Immortal Jove, high Heaven’s superior lord, On lofty Ida’s holy mount adored! Whoe’er involved us in this dire debate, O give that author of the war to fate And shades eternal! let division cease, And joyful nations join in leagues of peace.”
“I want him to play to me,” cried Lord Henry, smiling, and he looked down the table and caught a bright answering glance.
“And so ended his affection,” said Elizabeth, impatiently. “There has been many a one, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!”
“A delightful theory!” she exclaimed. “I must put it into practice.”
“Why, Harry?”
This said, the many-coloured maid inspires Her husband’s love, and wakes her former fires; Her country, parents, all that once were dear, Rush to her thought, and force a tender tear, O’er her fair face a snowy veil she threw, And, softly sighing, from the loom withdrew. Her handmaids, Clymene and Æthra, wait Her silent footsteps to the Scæan gate.
Lydia was a stout, well-grown girl of fifteen, with a fine complexion and good-humoured countenance; a favourite with her mother, whose affection had brought her into public at an early age. She had high animal spirits, and a sort of natural self-consequence, which the attentions of the officers, to whom her uncle’s good dinners and her own easy manners recommended her, had increased into assurance. She was very equal, therefore, to address Mr. Bingley on the subject of the ball, and abruptly reminded him of his promise; adding, that it would be the most shameful thing in the world if he did not keep it. His answer to this sudden attack was delightful to her mother’s ear.
Moby-Dick — Chapter 14: Wheelbarrow