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?
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.
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.
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.