The Weird of the Wentworths: A Tale of George IV's Time, Vol. 2Scotus, Johannes
History
The Weird of the Wentworths: A Tale of George IV's Time, Vol. 2
Scotus, Johannes
Conduct of life -- Fiction; Great Britain -- History -- George IV, 1820-1830 -- Fiction
He thought he had never seen her look half so beautiful as on that
evening; it was not only the passing loveliness of every feature, nor
the grace of every movement, but the soul, the burning intellect that
was shrined on her white, broad brow,--which proved how far she excelled
in mind her own beauty, as her beauty excelled many another fair being.
The Countess was dressed in a light Indian muslin; over her shoulders
was thrown a black lace scarf, and her luxuriant hair was confined, as
usual, in a frail net, which, with its glossy burden, fell half-way down
her back. She rested her cheek on her symmetrically-formed hand; on her
fingers shone the plain circle of gold, which told her rank as the wife
of him who doated on her, and the ring which she often playfully told
the Earl she regarded even with more tenderness than her wedding-ring!
Her eye was intently fixed on the west,--there her mind seemed to be
also; yet, without being able to explain the paradox, her heart was with
him who stood beside her! The sunset was one which northern climes never
own,--which northern nations may have dreamed of, but have never seen.
It beggared the very powers of description! Those whose eyes have been
blessed with such sights must feel how dimly words catch the hues no
painter's pencil can fix on canvas. The last tip of the slowly-sinking
sun seemed to pause for an instant over the waves, as if unwilling to
leave his beloved land to darkness; a broad path of glory glittered
along the dancing wavelets,--like a golden highway from earth to heaven;
on either side the waters slept intensely blue, for it was only in the
rays that the eye could discern any motion in the sea. A felucca craft
was slowly rowed across this blaze of light; its white sails seemed like
ebony,--every part was cut out black,--every rope well defined against
the glowing background. Around and above the setting orb the scene was
still more wonderful,--not a cloud sullied the serene of heaven, which
yet,
"Of all colours seemed to be
Melted to one vast iris of the West."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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