Chapter I: Part 1

TEN CENT POCKET SERIES NO. 77

Edited by E. Haldeman-Julius

WHAT GREAT MEN HAVE SAID ABOUT WOMEN

HALDEMAN-JULIUS COMPANY GIRARD. KANSAS

SHAKESPEARE.

Where is any author in the world
Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye?

_Love's Labour's Lost, A. 4, S. 3._

The idea of her life shall sweetly creep
Into his study of imagination;
And every lovely organ of her life
Shall come apparel'd in more precious habit,
More moving-delicate, and full of life,
Into the eye and prospect of his soul.

_Much Ado About Nothing, A. 4, S. 1._

Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks,
Shall win my love.

_Taming of the Shrew, A. 4, S. 2._

Win her with gifts, if she respect not words;
Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind,
More than quick words, do move a woman's mind.

_Two Gentlemen of Verona, A. 3, S. 1._

You, that have so fair parts of woman on you,
Have too a woman's heart: which ever yet
Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty.

_Henry VIII., A. 2, S. 3._

'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud;
'Tis virtue that doth make them most admired.

_Henry VI., Pt. 3, A. 1, S. 4._

From woman's eyes this doctrine I derive;
They sparkle still the right Promethean fire;
They are the books, the arts, the academes,
That show, contain, and nourish all the world.

_Love's Labour's Lost, A. 4, S. 3._

Her voice was ever soft,
Gentle, and low: an excellent thing in woman.

_King Lear, A. 5, S. 3._

Have you not heard it said full oft,
A woman's nay doth stand for naught?

_The Passionate Pilgrim, Line 14._

Thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise,
And make it halt behind her.

_The Tempest, A. 4. S. 1._

Good name in man and woman,
Is the immediate jewel of their souls.

_Othello, A. 3, S. 3._

Women are soft, pitiful, and flexible.

_Henry VI., Pt. 3, A. 1. S. 4._

Such duty as the subject owes the prince,
Even such a woman oweth to her husband;
And, when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour,
And not obedient to his honest will,
What is she, but a contending rebel,
And graceless traitor to her loving lord?

_Taming of the Shrew, A. 5, S. 2._

Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety: other women cloy
The appetites they feed: but she makes hungry
Where most she satisfies.

_Antony and Cleopatra, A. 2, S. 2._

She's beautiful, and therefore to be wooed;
She is a woman, therefore to be won.

_Henry VI., Pt. 1, A. 5, S. 3._

Say, that she rail; why, then I'll tell her plain
She sings as sweetly as a nightingale;
Say, that she frown; I'll say, she looks as clear
As morning roses newly wash'd with dew;
Say, she be mute, and will not speak a word;
Then I'll commend her volubility,
And say she uttereth piercing eloquence.

_Taming of the Shrew, A. 2, S. 1._

Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces;
... Say they have angels' faces.
That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man,
If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.

_Two Gentlemen of Verona, A. 3. S. 1._

Bethink thee on her virtues that Surmount,
And natural graces that extinguish art;
* * * * *
And, which is more, she is not so divine,
So full-replete with choice of all delights,
But, with as humble lowliness of mind,
She is content to be at your command.

_Henry VI., Pt. 1, A. 5, S. 5._

Let still the woman take
An elder than herself; so wears she to him,
So sways she level in her husband's heart.
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn.
Than women's are.

_Twelfth Night, A. 2, S. 4.

'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on.

_Twelfth Night, A. 1, S. 5._

Fresh tears
Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey-dew
Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd.

_Titus Andronicus, A. 3, S. 1._

Patience and sorrow strove
Who should express her goodliest. You have seen
Sunshine and rain at once; her smiles and tears
Were like a better day: those happy smilets,
That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know
What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence,
As pearls from diamonds dropp'd.

_King Lear, A. 4, S. 2._

She is mine own;
And I as rich in having such a jewel
As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,
The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.

_Two Gentlemen of Verona, A. 2, S. 4._

A woman impudent and mannish grown
Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man
In time of action.

_Troilus and Cressida, A. 3, S. 3._

A woman's face, with Nature's own hand painted,
Hast thou ...
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false woman's fashion:
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth.

_Sonnet XX._

No other but a woman's reason;
I think him so, because I think him so.

_Two Gentlemen of Verona, A. 1, S. 2._

The hand that hath made you fair hath made
you good: the goodness that is cheap in beauty
makes beauty brief in goodness; but grace
being the soul of your complexion, should keep
the body of it ever fair.

_Measure for Measure, A. 3, S. 1._

If ladies be but young and fair,
They have the gift to know it.

_As You Like It, A. 2, S. 7._

If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you,
But rather to beget more love in you:
If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone;
* * * * *
Take no repulse, whatever she doth say;
For "_Get you gone_," she doth not mean "_Away!_"

_Two Gentlemen of Verona, A. 3, S. 1._

She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought,
And, with a green and yellow melancholy,
She saw, like Patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief.

_Twelfth Night, A. 2, S. 4._

She shall be
A pattern to all ... living with her....
Holy and heavenly thoughts shall still counsel her;
She shall be lov'd and fear'd. Her own shall bless her....
... Those about her
From her shall read the perfect ways of honour....
... Yet a virgin,
A most unspotted lily shall she pass
To the ground, and all shall mourn her.

_Henry VIII., A. 5, S. 4._

JOHN MILTON.

Grace was in all her steps, Heaven in her eye,
In every gesture dignity and love.

_Paradise Lost, Book 8._

When I approach
Her loveliness, so absolute she seems
And in herself complete, so well to know
Her own, that what she wills to do or say
Seems wisest, virtuest, discreetest, best.

_Paradise Lost, Book 8._

Nothing lovelier can be found
In woman than to study household good,
And good works in her husband to promote.

_Paradise Lost, Book 9._

For contemplation he and valour form'd;
For softness she and sweet attractive grace;
He for God only, she for God in him.

_Paradise Lost, Book 4._

Among daughters of men ...
Many are in each region passing fair
As the noon sky; more like to goddesses
Than mortal creatures; graceful and discreet;
... Persuasive ...
Such objects have the power to soften and tame
Severest temper.

_Paradise Regained, Book 2._

Ladies, whose bright eyes
Rain influence.

_L'Allegro._

Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined.

_Sonnet._

O fairest of Creation, last and best
Of all God's works, creature in whom excell'd
Whatever can to sight or thought be form'd,
Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet!

_Paradise Lost, Book 9._

Curiosity, inquisitive, importune
Of secrets, then with like infirmity
To publish them, both common female faults.

_Samson Agonistes._

In argument with men, a woman ever
Goes by the worse, whatever be her cause.

_Samson Agonistes._

Thus it will befall
Him who to worth in woman overturning
Lets her will rule; restraint she will not brook,
And left to herself, if evil thence ensue,
She first his weak indulgence will accuse.

_Paradise Lost, Book 9._

Daughter of God ...
I, from the influence of thy looks, receive
Access in every virtue: and in thy sight
More wise, more watchful, stronger, if need were
Of outward strength; while shame, thou looking on.
Shame to be overcome or overreach'd.
Would utmost vigour raise, and raised unite.
Why shouldst not thou like sense within thee feel
When I am present, and thy trial choose
With me, best witness of thy virtue tried?

_Paradise Lost, Book 9._

By his countenance he seem'd
Entering on studious thoughts abstruse; which Eve
Perceiving, where she sat retired in sight,
With lowliness majestic from her seat,
And grace that won who saw to wish her stay,
Rose, and went forth among her fruits and flowers,
To visit how they prosper'd, bud and bloom,
Her nursery; they at her coming sprung,
And, touch'd by her fair tendance gladlier grew.

_Paradise Lost, Book 8._

So dear to Heaven is saintly chastity,
That, when a soul is found sincerely so
A thousand liveried angels lackey her,
Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt,
And in clear dream and solemn vision
Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear;
Till oft converse with heavenly habitants
Begin to cast a beam on the outward shape.

_Comus._

A smile that glow'd
Celestial rosy red, love's proper hue.

_Paradise Lost, Book 8._

She has a hidden strength ...
... The strength of Heaven,
It may be termed her own.
'Tis chastity ... chastity....
She that has that, is clad in complete steel;
And, like a quiver'd Nymph with arrows keen,
May trace huge forests, and unharbour'd heaths,
... and sandy perilous wilds ...
She may pass on with unblench'd majesty
Be it not done in pride, or in presumption.

_Comus._

O Woman, in thy native innocence, rely
On what thou hast of virtue: summon all,
For God toward thee hath done His part, do thine.

_Paradise Lost, Book 9._

What higher in her society thou find'st
Attractive, human, rational, love still;
In loving thou dost well, in passion not
Wherein true love consists not.

_Paradise Lost, Book 8._

The wife, where danger or dishonour lurks,
Safest and seemliest by her husband stays,
Who guards her, or with her the worst endures.

_Paradise Lost, Book 9._

Greatness of mind and nobleness their seat
Build in her loveliest, and create an awe
About her, as a guard angelic placed.

_Paradise Lost, Book 8._

Those graceful acts,
Those thousand decencies that daily flow
From all her words and actions mix'd with love
And sweet compliance, which declare unfeign'd
Union of mind, or in us both one soul;
Harmony to behold in wedded pair
More grateful than harmonious sound to the ear.

_Paradise Lost, Book 8._

Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure,
Sober, steadfast, and demure.
* * * * *
With even step and musing gait;
And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy wrapt soul sitting in thine eyes.

_Il Penseroso._

Innocence and virgin modesty
Her virtue, and the conscience of her worth,
That would be woo'd, and not unsought be won
Not obvious, not obtrusive, but retired
The more desirable.

_Paradise Lost, Book 8._

Lady, thy care is fix'd, and zealously attends
To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light.
And hope that reaps not shame.

_Sonnet._

A creature ...
... So lovely fair,
That what seem'd fair in all the world seem'd now
Mean, or in her summ'd up, in her contain'd.

_Paradise Lost, Book 8._

All things from her air inspired
The spirit of love and amorous delight.

_Paradise Lost, Book 8._

It is for homely features to keep home--
They had their name thence: coarse complexions
And cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply
The sampler and to tease the housewife's wool.

_Comus._

With dispatchful looks in haste
She turns, on hospitable thoughts intent.
What choice to choose for delicacy best,
What order, so contrived, as not to mix
Tastes, not well join'd, inelegant, but bring
Taste after taste upheld with kindliest change.

_Paradise Lost, Book 5._

I do not think my sister ...
... So unprincipled in Virtue's book
And the sweet peace that goodness bosoms ever,
As that single want of light and noise
Could stir the constant mood of her calm thoughts,
And put them into misbecoming plight.
Virtue could see to do what Virtue would
By her own radiant light, though sun and moon
Were in the flat sea sunk. And Wisdom's self
Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude:
Where, with her best nurse, Contemplation,
She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings.
That in the various bustle of resort
Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impair'd.

_Comus._

LORD BYRON.

Around her shone
The nameless charms unmark'd by her alone:
The light of love, the purity of grace,
The mind, the music breathing from her face,
The heart whose softness harmonized the whole--
And, oh! that eye was in itself a soul!

_The Bride of Abydos, Canto 1._

Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare,
And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair.

_Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto 1._

She was a form of life and light,
That, seen, became a part of sight;
And rose wher'er I turned mine eye,
The morning-star of memory!

_The Giaour._

You know, or ought to know, enough of women,
Since you have studied, them so steadily,
That what they ask in aught that touches on
The heart, is dearer to their feelings or
Their fancy than the whole external world.

_Sardanapalus, A. 4._

Oh! too convincing--dangerously dear--
In woman's eye the unanswerable tear!
That weapon of her weakness she can wield
To save, subdue--at once her spear and shield.

_Corsair, Canto 2._

Who hath not proved how feebly words essay
To fix one spark of beauty's heavenly ray?
Who doth not feel, until his failing sight
Faints into dimness with its own delight,
His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess
The might--the majesty of loveliness?

_Bride of Abydos, Canto 1._

So bright the tear in beauty's eye,
Love half regrets to kiss it dry;
So sweet the blush of bashfulness,
Even pity scarce can wish it less!

_The Bride of Abydos, Canto 1._

Her glossy hair was cluster'd o'er a brow
Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth;
Her eyebrow's shape was like the aërial bow
Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth
Mounting, at times to a transparent glow,
As if her veins ran lightning.

_Don Juan, Canto 1._

Man's love is of man's life a thing apart,
Is woman's whole existence.

_Don Juan, Canto 1._

Her very smile was haughty, though so sweet;
Her very nod was not an inclination;
There was a self-will even in her small feet,
As though they were quite conscious of her station;--
* * * * *
But nature teaches more than power can spoil,
And when a strong although a strange sensation
Moves--female hearts are such a genial soil
For kinder feelings, whatsoe'er their nation.
They naturally pour the "wine and oil,"
Samaritans in every situation.

_Don Juan, Canto 5._

The earth has nothing like a she epistle,
And hardly heaven--because it never ends.
I love the mystery of a female missal,
Which like a creed ne'er says all it intends.

_Don Juan, Canto 13._

Her chief resource was in her own high spirit,
Which judged mankind at their due estimation;
And for coquetry, she disdain'd to wear it:
Secure of admiration, its impression
Was faint, as of an every-day possession.

_Don Juan, Canto 13._

An eye's an eye, and whether black or blue,
Is no great matter, so 'tis in request.
'Tis nonsense to dispute about a hue,
The kindest may be taken as a test.
The fair sex should be always fair; and no man
Till thirty, should perceive there's a plain woman.

_Beppo._

She was not violently lively, but
Stole on your spirit like a May-day breaking;
Her eyes were not too sparkling, yet, half shut,
They put beholders in a tender taking.

_Don Juan, Canto 6._

The very first
Of human life must spring from woman's breast,
Your first small words are taught you from her lips,
Your first tears quench'd by her, and your last sighs
Too often breathed out in a woman's hearing,
When men have shrunk from the ignoble care
Of watching the last hour of him who led them.

_Sardanapalus, A. 1._

Soft, as the memory of buried love;
Pure, as the prayer which childhood wafts above
Was she.

_Bride of Abydos; Canto 1._

She was a soft landscape of mild earth,
Where all was harmony, and calm and quiet,
Luxuriant, budding; cheerful without mirth,
Which, if not happiness, is more nigh it
Than are your mighty passions and so forth,
Which some call "the sublime": I wish they'd try it;
I've seen your stormy seas and stormy women,
And pity lovers rather more than seamen.

_Don Juan, Canto 6._

The tender blue of that large loving eye.

_The Corsair, Canto 1._

Now Laura moves along the joyous crowd,
Smiles in her eyes, and simpers on her lips;
To some she whispers, others speaks aloud;
To some she curtsies, and to some she dips;
Complains of warmth, and this complaint avow'd,
Her lover brings the lemonade,--she sips:
She then surveys, condemns, but pities still
Her dearest friends for being drest so ill.
One had false curls, another too much paint,
A third--where did she buy that frightful turban?
A fourth's so pale she fears she's going to faint,
A fifth's look's vulgar, dowdyish, and suburban,
A sixth's white silk has got a yellow tint,
A seventh's thin muslin surely will be her bane,
And lo! an eighth appears,--I'll see no more!
For fear, like Banquo's kings, they reach a score.

_Beppo._

She was blooming still, had made the best
Of time, and time return'd the compliment,
And treated her genteely, so that, drest,
She look'd extremely well where'er she went;
A pretty woman is a welcome guest,
And her brow a frown had rarely bent;
Indeed she shone all smiles, and seem'd to flatter
Mankind with her black eyes for looking at her.

_Beppo._

I think, with all due deference
To the fair _single_ part of the creation,
That married ladies should preserve the preference
In tête-à-tête or general conversation--
Because they know the world, and are at ease,
And being natural, naturally please.

_Beppo._

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

_Hebrew Melodies._

I saw thee weep--the big bright tear
Came o'er that eye of blue:
And then methought it did appear
A violet dropping dew;
I saw thee smile--the sapphire's blaze
Beside thee ceased to shine,
It could not match the living rays
That fill'd that glance of thine.

As clouds from yonder sun receive
A deep and mellow die,
Which scarce the shade of coming eve
Can banish from the sky,
Those smiles unto the moodiest mind
Their own pure joy impart;
Their sunshine leaves a glow behind
That lightens o'er the heart.

_Hebrew Melodies._

I have observed your sex, once roused to wrath,
Are timidly vindictive to a pitch
Of perseverance, which I would not copy.

_Sardanapalus, A. 2._

She was pensive more than melancholy,
And serious more than pensive, and serene,
It may be, more than either ...
The strangest thing was, beauteous, she was wholly
Unconscious, albeit turn'd of quick seventeen,
That she was fair, or dark, or short, or tall;
She never thought about herself at all.

_Don Juan, Canto 6.
_

A learned lady, famed
For every branch of every science known--
In every Christian language ever named,
With virtues equall'd by her wit alone.
She made the cleverest people quite ashamed,
And even the good with inward envy groan,
Finding themselves so very much exceeded
In their own way by all the things that she did.

_Don Juan, Canto 1._

'Tis pity learned virgins ever wed
With persons of no sort of education,
Or gentlemen who, though well-born and bred,
Grow tired of scientific conversation:
* * * * *
Oh! ye lords of ladies intellectual,
Inform us truly, have they not hen-peck'd you all?

_Don Juan, Canto 1._

What a strange thing is man! and what a stranger
Is woman? what a whirlwind is her head,
And what a whirlpool full of depth and danger
Is all the rest about her! whether wed,
Or widow, maid, or mother, she can change her
Mind like the wind; whatever she has said
Or done, is light to what she'll say or do;--
The oldest thing on record, and yet new!

_Don Juan, Canto 9._

Round her she made an atmosphere of life,
The very air seem'd lighter from her eyes,
They were so soft and beautiful, and rife
With all we can imagine of the skies;--
* * * * *
Her overpowering presence made you feel,
It would not be idolatry to kneel.

_Don Juan, Canto 3._

Through her eye the Immortal shone;
* * * * *
Her eyes' dark charm 'twere vain to tell,
But gaze on that of the gazelle,
It will assist thy fancy well;
As large, as languishingly dark,
But soul beamed forth in every spark
That darted from beneath the lid,
Bright as the jewel of Giamschid,
Yea, soul!

_The Giaour._

So--this feminine farewell
Ends as such partings end, in _no_ departure.

_Sardanapalus, A. 4._

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

Even the most simple and unsuspicious of the female sex have (God
bless them!) an instinctive sharpness of perception in love
matters, which sometimes goes the length of observing partialities
that never existed, but rarely misses to detect such as pass
actually under their observation.--_Waverley._

Her accents stole
On the dark visions of their soul,
And bade their mournful musings fly,
Like mist before the zephyr's sigh.

_Rokeby, Canto 4._

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._

She is of that light unreflecting class, of that light unreflecting
sex: _varium semper et mutabile_. And then her Fine-ladyism, though
a purseless one: capricious, coquettish, and with all the finer
sensibilities of the heart; now in the rackets, now in the sullens;
vivid in contradictory resolves; laughing, weeping, without
reason,--though these acts are said to be signs of season.
Consider, too, how she has had to work her way, all along, by
flattery and cajolery; wheedling, eaves-dropping, namby-pambying;
how she needs wages, and knows no other productive trades.--_The
Diamond Necklace._

Thought can hardly be said to exist in her; only Perception and
Device. With an understanding lynx-eyed for the surface of things,
but which pierces beyond the surface of nothing, every individual
thing (for she has never seized the heart of it) turns up a new
face to her every new day, and seems a thing changed, a different
thing.--_The Diamond Necklace._

Reader! thou for thy sins must have met with such fair Irrationals;
fascinating, with their lively eyes, with their quick snappish
fancies; distinguished in the higher circles, in Fashion, even in
Literature; they hum and buzz there, on graceful
film-wings:--searching, nevertheless, with the wonderfullest skill
for honey; _un_tamable as flies!--_The Diamond Necklace._

Nature is very kind to all children, and to all mothers that are
true to her.--_Frederick the Great._

She is of stately figure;--of beautiful still countenance.--A
completeness, a decision is in this fair female figure; by energy
she means the spirit that will prompt one to sacrifice himself for
his country.--_French Revolution._

A clever, high-mannered, massive-minded old lady; admirable as a
finished piece of social art, but hardly otherwise
much.--_Reminiscences._

Who can account for the taste of females?--_The Diamond Necklace._

A Beauty, but over light-headed: a Booby who had fine legs. How
these first courted, billed, and cooed, according to nature; then
pouted, fretted, grew utterly enraged and blew one another
up.--_Boswell's Life of Johnson._

With delicate female tact, with fine female stoicism too, keeping
all things within limits.--_Frederick the Great._

A true-hearted, sharp-witted sister.--_Essay of Diderot._

A graceful, brave, and amiable woman;--her choicest gift an open
eye and heart.--_Oliver Cromwell._

Every graceful and generous quality of womanhood harmoniously
blended in her nature.--_Life of Schiller._

She is a fair vision, the _beau idéal_ of a poet's first
mistress.--_Life of Schiller._

Heaven, though severe, is _not_ unkind; Heaven is kind, as a noble
mother; as that Spartan mother, saying while she gave her son his
shield, "With it, my son, or upon it!"--Complain not; the very
Spartans did not complain.--_Past and Present_.

VICTOR HUGO.

All her face, all her person, breathed an ineffable love and
kindness. She had always been predestined to gentleness, but Faith,
Hope, and Charity, those three virtues that softly warm the soul,
had gradually elevated that gentleness to sanctity. Nature had only
made her a lamb, and religion had made her an angel.--_Les
Misérables._

She was the very embodiment of joy as she went to and fro in the
house; she brought with her a perpetual spring.--_Toilers of the
Sea_.

Her entire person was simplicity, ingenuousness, whiteness, candor,
and radiance, and it might have been said of her that she was
transparent. She produced a sensation of April and daybreak, and
she had dew in her eyes. She was the condensation of the light of
dawn in a woman's form.--_Les Misérables._

The woman was weak, but the mother found strength.--_Ninety-Three._

Woman feels and speaks with the infallibility which is the tender
instinct of the heart.--_Les Misérables._

What is a husband but the pilot in the voyage of matrimony? Wife,
let your fine weather be your husband's smiles.--_Toilers of the
Sea._

No one knows like a woman how to say things which are at once
gentle and deep. Gentleness and depth,--in these things the whole
of woman is contained, and it is heaven.--_Les Misérables._

Beauty heightened by simplicity is ineffable, and nothing is so
adorable as a beauteous, innocent maiden, who walks along
unconsciously, holding in her hand the key of Paradise.--_Les
Misérables._

She had the prettiest little hands in the world, and little feet
to match them. Sweetness and goodness reigned throughout her
person; ... her occupation was only to live her daily life; her
accomplishments were the knowledge of a few songs; her intellectual
gifts were summed up in her simple innocence.--_Toilers of the
Sea._

The coquette is blind: she does not see her wrinkles.--_By Order of
the King._

A mother's arms are made of tenderness, and children sleep soundly
in them.--_Les Misérables._

There are moments when a woman accepts, like a sombre and resigned
duty, the worship of love.--_Les Misérables._

She was pale with that paleness which is like the transparency of a
divine life in an earthly face.... A soul standing in the
dawn.--_By Order of the King._

He looked at her, and saw nothing but her. This is love; one may be
carried away for a moment by the importunity of some other idea,
but the beloved one enters, and all that does not appertain to her
presence immediately fades away, without her dreaming that perhaps
she is effacing in us a world.--_By Order of the King._

She walked on with a light and free step, so little suggestive of
the burden of life that it might easily be seen that she was young.
Her movements possessed that subtle grace which indicates the most
delicate of all transitions--the soft intermingling, as it-were,
of two twilights,--the passage from the condition of a child to
that of womanhood.--_Toilers of the Sea._

She had never been pretty, but her whole life, which had been but a
succession of pious works, had eventually cast over her a species
of whiteness and brightness, and in growing older she had acquired
what may be called the beauty of goodness. What had been thinness
in her youth had became in her maturity transparency, and through
this transparency the angel could be seen.--_Les Misérables._

A ray of happiness was visible upon her face. Never had she
appeared more beautiful. Her features were remarkable for
prettiness rather than what is called beauty. Their fault, if fault
it be, lay in a certain excess of grace.... The ideal virgin is the
transfiguration of a face like this. Dèruchette, touched by her
sorrow and love, seemed to have caught that higher and more holy
expression. It was the difference between the field daisy and the
lily.--_Toilers of the Sea._

The glance of a woman resembles certain wheels which are apparently
gentle but are formidable.... You come, you go, you dream, you
speak, you laugh, and all in a minute you feel yourself caught, and
it is all over with you. The wheel holds you, the glance has caught
you.--_Les Misérables._

She had listened to nothing, but mothers hear certain things
without listening.--_Ninety-Three._

She was really a respectable, firm, equitable, and just person,
full of that charity which consists in giving, but not possessing
to the same extent the charity which comprehends and pardons.--_Les
Misérables._

She seemed a vision scarcely embodied; ... in her fairness, which
amounted almost to serenity of her look; ... in the sacred
innocence of her smile, she was almost an angel, and yet just a
woman.--_By Order of the King._

The girl becomes a maiden, fresh and joyous as the lark. Noting her
movements, we feel as if it were good of her not to fly away. The
dear familiar companion moves at her own sweet will about the
house; flits from branch to branch, or rather from room to room;
goes to and fro; approaches and retires.... She asks a question and
is answered; is asked something in return, and chirps a reply. It
is delightful to chat with her when tired of serious talk; for this
creature carries with her something of her skyey element. She is,
as it were, a thread of gold interwoven with your sombre thoughts;
you feel almost grateful to her for her kindness in not making
herself invisible, when it would be so easy for her to be even
impalpable; for the beautiful is a necessity of life. There is in
the world no function more important than that of being
charming.... To shed joy around, to radiate happiness, to cast
light upon dark days, to be the golden thread of our destiny, and
the very spirit of grace and harmony, is not this to render a
service?--_Toilers of the Sea._

She scarcely knew, perhaps, the meaning of the word love, and yet
not unwillingly ensnared those about her in the toils.--_Toilers of
the Sea._

She stopped. She walked back a few paces, stopped again; she
inclined her head, with those thoughtful eyes which look attentive
yet see nothing.... Her lowered eyelids had that vague contraction
which suggests a tear checked in its course, or a thought
suppressed.... Her face, which might inspire adoration, seemed
meditative, like portraits of the Virgin.--_Toilers of the Sea._