The Will To Do, The Soul To

Besides, Rose Bradwardine, Beautiful And Amiable As We Have Described Her, Had Not Precisely The Sort Of Beauty Or Merit Which Captivates A Romantic Imagination In Early Youth. She Was Too Frank, Too Confiding, Too Kind; Amiable Qualities, Undoubtedly, But Destructive Of The Marvellous, With Which A Youth Of Imagination Delights To Dress The Empress Of His Affections.

'tis An Old Tale, And Often Told; But Did My Fate And Wish Agree, Ne'er Had Been Read, In Story Old, Of Maiden True Betray'd For Gold, That Loved, Or Was Avenged, Like Me!

O Woman! In Our Hours Of Ease Uncertain, Coy, And Hard To Please, And Variable As The Shade By The Light Quivering Aspen Made; When Pain And Anguish Wring The Brow, A Ministering Angel Thou!

I Will But Confess The Sins Of My Green Cloak To My Grey Friar's Frock, And All Shall Be Well Again.

Independently Of The Curious Circumstance That Such Tales Should Be Found Existing In Very Different Countries And Languages, Which Augurs A Greater Poverty Of Human Invention Than We Would Have Expected, There Is Also A Sort Of Wild Fairy Interest In Them, Which Makes Me Think Them Fully Better Adapted To Awaken The Imagination And Soften The Heart Of Childhood Than The Good-boy Stories Which Have Been In Later Years Composed For Them.