softened by sorrow; afterwards to be acted upon by some high and sufficient motive to call its energies into action—and then, of such stuff Nature makes her noblest and best. As yet his life had, like that of the cuckoo, known
"No sorrow in its song.
No winter in its year."
His beauty had charmed even his stately lady-mother into softness; and he was the only being now on earth whom his brother loved. Young, noble, rich, gifted with that indefinable grace which, like the fascination of the serpent, draws all within its circle, but not for such fatal purpose—with a temper almost womanly in its affectionate sweetness—with those bold buoyant spirits that make their own eagle-wings,—what did Edward de Lorraine want in this world but a few difficulties and a little misfortune?
