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How easy it would be to escape into this lovely night to walk through this ambrosial air to the house-worshipful in which she doubtless lay, like a closed lily-flower, clasped in sleep. A mocking-bird the Southland's nightingale in, some tree or bush not far away, burst into passion-shaken melody that seemed to voice, as no words could, his own emotion.
I got leave of absence, and ran down for a month in the country to a certain house we wot of, where kindly ministration to my convalescence was only one of the many blisses to be put to an account of rosy days. "Then did my love awake, Most like a lily-flower, And as the lovely queene of heaven, So shone shee in her bower." Ah, me! ah, me! when was it? A year ago, or two-thirds of a lifetime?
I was like a tap, and poured myself out; and when it was all over I thought she was the best talker I'd ever heard. But yet she'd done nothing except look at me and listen, and put in a question here and there, that was like a baby asking to see your watch. Oh, she was a lily-flower, was Sally Seabrook, and I've never been sorry I told her all my little story! It did me good.
Charlotte Brontë was on her own ground there. But you tremble when she leaves it; you shudder throughout the awful drawing-room comedy of Blanche Ingram. Blanche says to her mother: "Am I right, Baroness Ingram of Ingram Park?" And her mother says to Blanche, "My lily-flower, you are right now, as always."
One year ago, this dreary night, This house, that, in my way, Checks the swift pulses of delight, Was cordial glad, and gay. The household angels tended there Their ivy-cinctured bower, And by the hardier plant grew fair A lovely lily-flower. The skies rained sunshine on its head, It throve in summer air: "How straight and sound!" the father said; The mother said, "How fair!"
I was like a tap, and poured myself out; and when it was all over, I thought she was the best talker I'd ever heard. But yet she'd done nothing except look at me and listen, and put in a question here and there, that was like a baby asking to see your watch. Oh, she was a lily-flower, was Sally Seabrook, and I've never been sorry I told her all my little story! It did me good.
I was like a tap, and poured myself out; and when it was all over, I thought she was the best talker I'd ever heard. But yet she'd done nothing except look at me and listen, and put in a question here and there, that was like a baby asking to see your watch. Oh, she was a lily-flower, was Sally Seabrook, and I've never been sorry I told her all my little story! It did me good.
"Which is the weakly one?" asked Cadbury. "That lily-flower bending on its stalk to address the cheeky, black-eyed imp? He looks weakly enough, all eyes and hair." "No, no; that's Hughes, from the Bank. I mean the new weekly boarder, who's to go home from Saturday to Monday." "I know the one," said Hallett. "The apple-faced boy who does so much laughing. I heard someone call him Brady."
Au reste, we all know them: danger of bad example to innocence of childhood; distractions and consequent neglect of duty on the part of the attached mutual alliance and reliance; confidence thence resulting insolence accompanying mutiny and general blow-up. Am I right, Baroness Ingram, of Ingram Park?" "My lily-flower, you are right now, as always."
Soon he will be a bird of many moltings if thus daily he makes a practice of taking off his old feathers and putting on new ones. And thus Gawain too doffed his armour, and put on other, and the morrow he sees Cliges return, whiter than lily-flower, his shield held by the straps behind it, on his trusty, white, Arab steed, as he had devised the night before.
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