His muse, too, was only dedicated to the celebration of any
topic which their life or themselves suggested. He loved to lie under
the trees, and pour forth sonnets to Lady Annabel; and encouraged
Venetia, by the readiness and interest with which he invariably
complied with her intimations, to throw out every fancy which occurred
to her for his verse. A life passed without the intrusion of a single
evil passion, without a single expression that was not soft, and
graceful, and mild, and adorned with all the resources of a most
accomplished and creative spirit, required not the distractions
of society. It would have shrunk from it, from all its artificial
excitement and vapid reaction. The days of the Herberts flowed on in
one bright, continuous stream of love, and literature, and gentle
pleasures. Beneath them was the green earth, above them the blue sky.
Their spirits were as clear, and their hearts as soft as the clime.
The hour of twilight was approaching, and the family were preparing
for their daily walk. Their simple repast was finished, and Venetia
held the verses which her father had written in the morning, and which
he had presented to her.
'Let us descend to Spezzia,' said Herbert to Lady Annabel; 'I love an
ocean sunset.
Pages:
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574