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Updated: June 22, 2025
I looked upward, and never in my eyes had woman's face appeared so fair and saintlike. She seemed to see me and to feel the silent outpouring of my affection. I rose to my feet, and clasping both her hands spoke only her name "Madge." She answered simply, "Malcolm, is it possible?" And her face, illumined by the sunlight and by the love-god, told me all else.
Near at hand may be pitfalls, the smiling love-god may prove less innocent than he looks, and in the distance Fate may be foreshadowed by the figure of weary Age awaiting Death. Yet this one moment is all the lovers' own, and they profane it not by speech, but stir their happy languor only with faint notes of music borne on the still, warm air. Bridgewater Gallery.
"You will forgive me, Lady Blakeney," said Sir Andrew, now as calm as she was herself, "if I resume the interesting occupation which you have interrupted?" "By all means, Sir Andrew! How should I venture to thwart the love-god again? Perhaps he would mete out some terrible chastisement against my presumption. Burn your love-token, by all means!"
True- Heart; 'I am wholly of your opinion. 'Oh what a mercy is it, said Mr. Hate-Bad, 'that such villains as these are apprehended! 'Ay! ay! said Mr. Love-God, 'this is one of the joyfullest days that ever I saw in my life. Then said Mr. See-Truth, 'I know that if we judge them to death, our verdict shall stand before Shaddai himself' 'Nor do I at all question it, said Mr.
This was a god indeed, a love-god, a warm and radiant god, in whose light White Fang's nature expanded as a flower expands under the sun. But White Fang was not demonstrative. He was too old, too firmly moulded, to become adept at expressing himself in new ways. He was too self-possessed, too strongly poised in his own isolation. Too long had he cultivated reticence, aloofness, and moroseness.
Poor Helen! It was little marvel that she wept as all women weep when their hearts are broken. It is so easy to break a heart; sometimes a mere word will do it. But the vanishing of the winged Love-god from the soul is even more than heart-break, it is utter and irretrievable loss, complete and dominating chaos out of which no good thing can ever be designed or created.
So Jerry knew the ecstasy of loving and of being loved in the arms of his love-god, although little he knew of such phrases as "king's son" and "son of kings," save that they connoted love for him in the same way that Lerumie's hissing noises connoted hate.
It is the very image of the Provencal love-god, no longer a child, but grown to pensive youth, as Pierre Vidal met him, riding on a white horse, fair as the morning, his vestment embroidered with flowers. He rode on through the gates into the open plain beyond.
Gentlemen of the jury, answer all to your names: Mr. Belief, one; Mr. True-Heart, two; Mr. Upright, three; Mr. Hate-Bad, four; Mr. Love-God, five; Mr. See-Truth, six; Mr. Heavenly-mind, seven; Mr. Moderate, eight; Mr. Thankful, nine; Mr. Humble, ten; Mr. Good-Work, eleven; and Mr. Zeal-for-God, twelve. Good men and true, stand together in your verdict: are you all agreed? Jury. Yes, my lord.
He is doing his best, the poor little neglected Love-god, with the material at hand since he must fulfill the law of his being. He seeks to unite lovers in their interior nature, but as each of the would-be happy pair is bent on gazing without, instead of within, he is handicapped.
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