Yes; there are hearts unmoved can see The smile, the ring, the revelry:— But heart of warrior ne'er could bear The beam of beauty's crystal tear.
Hoao.
The flower enamour'd of the sun,
At his departure, hangs her head, and weeps,
And shrouds her sweetness up, and keeps
Sad vigil, like a cloister'd nun,
'Till his returning ray appears,
Waking her beauty as he dries his tears!
Tobin.
Chacun se dit ami, mais fou qui s'y repose; Rien n'est plus commun que le nom, Rien n'est plus rare que la chose.
La Fontaine.
Pity is a sentiment so natural, so appropriate to the female character, that it is scarcely a virtue for a woman to possess it, but to be without it, is a grievous crime.
Believe not each accusing tongue,
As most weak persons do; But still believe that story wrong,
Which ought not to be true !
