The Mourning Bride: A Tragedy

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J. and R. Tonson and S. Draper in the Strand, 1753 - 71

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Strona 23 - Looking tranquillity! It strikes an awe And terror on my aching sight; the tombs And monumental caves of death look cold, And shoot a chilness to my trembling heart.
Strona 23 - And shoot a chilness to my trembling heart. Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice ; Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear Thy voice — my own affrights me with its echoes.
Strona 11 - No time shall raze thee from my memory ; No, I will live to be thy monument; The cruel ocean is no more thy tomb: But in my heart thou art interred ; there, there, Thy dear resemblance is for ever fixed; My love, my lord, my husband still, though lost.
Strona 9 - I've read, that things inanimate have mov'd, And, as with living souls, have been inform'd By magic numbers and persuasive sound.
Strona 38 - But destiny and inauspicious stars Have cast me down to this low being : or, Granting you had, from you I have deserved it.
Strona 68 - Had they or hearts or eyes, that did this deed ! Could eyes endure to guide such cruel hands? Are not my eyes guilty alike with theirs, That thus can gaze, and yet not turn to stone ? I do not weep ! The springs of tears are...
Strona 34 - tis torn off— Why should that word alone Be torn from his petition ? 'Twas to Heav'n, But Heav'n was deaf, Heav'n heard him not ; but thus, Thus as the name of Heav'n from this is torn, So did it tear the ears of mercy from His voice, shutting the gates of pray'r against him. If piety be thus debarr'd...
Strona 40 - My life, my health, my liberty, my all! How shall I welcome thee to this sad place? How speak to thee the words of joy and transport? How run into thy arms •withheld by fetters ? Or take thee into mine, while I'm thus manacled And pinion'd like a thief or murderer...
Strona 32 - I'll give thee liberty. Osm. In vain you offer, and in vain require What neither can bestow : set free yourself, And leave a slave the wretch that would be so.
Strona 39 - Heaven ! my fears interpret This thy silence : somewhat of high concern, Long fashioning within thy labouring mind, And now just ripe for birth, my rage has ruin'd. Have I done this ? Tell me, am I so cursed ? Osm.

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