The Wild Irish Girl: A National TaleMorgan, Lady (Sydney)
General
The Wild Irish Girl: A National Tale
Morgan, Lady (Sydney)
British -- Ireland -- Fiction; Celts -- Fiction; Ireland -- Fiction; Love stories; Princesses -- Fiction
This elegance of manner, then, must be the pure result of elegance of
soul; and if there is a charm in woman, I have hitherto vainly sought,
and prized beyond all I have discovered, it is this refined, celestial,
native elegance of soul, which effusing its spell through every thought,
word, and motion, of its enviable possessor, resembles the peculiar
property of gold, which subtilely insinuates itself through the most
minute and various particles, without losing any thing of its own
intrinsic nature by the amalgamation.
In answer to the flattering observation which had elicited this
digression I replied:
That far from regretting the consequences, I was emamoured of an
accident that had procured me such happiness as I now enjoyed (even with
the risk of life itself;) and that I believed there were few who, like
me, would not prefer peril to security, were the former always the
purchase of such felicity as the latter, at least on me, had never
bestowed.
Whether this reply savoured too much of the world’s commonplace
gallantry, or that she thought there was more of the head than the
heart in it, I know not; but, by my soul, in spite of a certain haughty
motion of the head not unfrequent with her, I thought she looked
wonderfully inclined to laugh in my face, though she primed up her
mouth, and fancied she looked like a nun, when her lip pouted with the
smiling archness of a Hebe.
In short, I never felt more in all its luxury the comfort of looking
like a fool; and to do away the no very agreeable sensation which the
conviction of being laughed at awakens, as a _pis-aller_, I began to
examine the harp, and expressed the surprise I felt at its singular
construction.
“Are you fond of music?” she asked with _naivette_.
“Sufficiently so,” said I, “to risk my life for it.”
She smiled, and cast a look at the window, as much as to say, “I
understand you.”
As I now was engaged in examining her harp, I observed that it resembled
less any instrument of that kind I had seen, than the drawing of the
Davidic lyre in Montfaucon.
“Then,” said she, with animation, “this is another collateral proof of
the antiquity of its origin, which I never before heard adduced, and
which sanctions that universally received tradition among us, by which
we learn, that we are indebted to the first Milesian colony that settled
here for this charming instrument, although some modern historians
suppose that we obtained it from Scandinavia.” *
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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