Vivian GreyDisraeli, Benjamin, Earl of Beaconsfield
ReligionIslamic
Vivian Grey
Disraeli, Benjamin, Earl of Beaconsfield
Bildungsromans; British -- Europe -- Fiction; Political fiction; Politicians -- Fiction; Young men -- Fiction
“If I have a head for everything, I have a heart only for one person!”
As every one wished to be convinced, no one offered any argument in
opposition to Mr. St. George’s view of the case; and some were already
in the wood.
“Albert,” said Miss Fane, “I do not like walking in the wood so late;
pray come back.”
“Oh, nonsense, Violet! come. If you do not like to come, you can walk by
the road; you will meet us round by the gate, it is only five minutes’
walk.” Ere he had finished speaking, the rest were in the wood, and some
had advanced. Vivian strongly recommended Violet not to join them; he
was sure that Lady Madeleine would not approve of it; he was sure that
it was very dangerous, extremely; and, by-the-bye, while he was talking,
which way had they gone? he did not see them. He halloed; all answered,
and a thousand echoes besides. “We certainly had better go by the road,
we shall lose our way if we try to follow them; nothing is so puzzling
as walking in woods; we had much better keep to the road.” So by the
road they went.
The sun had already sunk behind the mountains, whose undulating forms
were thrown into dark shadow against the crimson sky. The thin crescent
of the new moon floated over the eastern hills, whose deep woods glowed
with the rosy glories of twilight. Over the peak of a purple mountain
glittered the solitary star of evening. As the sun dropped, universal
silence seemed to pervade the whole face of nature. The voice of the
birds was still; the breeze, which had refreshed them during the day,
died away, as if its office were now completed; and none of the dark
sounds and sights of hideous Night yet dared to triumph over the death
of Day. Unseen were the circling wings of the bat; unheard the
screech of the waking owl; silent the drowsy hum of the shade-born
beetle! What heart has not acknowledged the influence of this hour, the
sweet and soothing hour of twilight! the hour of love, the hour of
adoration, the hour of rest! when we think of those we love, only to
regret that we have not loved more dearly; when we remember our enemies
only to forgive them!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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