What Great Men Have Said About Women Part 5

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 a.s.sist 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 s.e.x have (G.o.d 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 pa.s.s 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 a.s.sured, "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 circ.u.mstances, 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 pa.s.sions, 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 circ.u.mstance 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 s.h.a.ggy 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 pa.s.sion unreveal'd, With maiden pride, the maid conceal'd, Yet no less purely felt the flame-- O need I tell that pa.s.sion'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 subst.i.tute the gloss of politeness for the reality of feeling.--_Waverley._

A deep-thinking and impa.s.sioned 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 ...