Explore "The Buccaneer a Tale" by Ann Maria Hall on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Death! be not proud, though some have called thee / / Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; / / For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow, / / Die not, poor Death / / Why swell'st thou, then? / / One short sleep past, we wake eternally'; / / And Death shall be no more:Death! thou shalt die. / / DR. DONNE.
When Sir Robert Cecil returned to his wife's chamber, all within was silent as the grave. He approached the bed; his daughter rose from the seat she had occupied by its side, and motioned him to be still, pointing at the same time to her mother, and intimating that she slept. "Thank God for that!" he murmured, and drew his hand across his brow, while his chest heaved as if a heavy weight had been removed from it. The attendants had left the room to obtain some necessary refreshment and repose, and father and daughter were alone with the sleeper in the chamber of death. The brow of Lady Cecil was calm, smooth, and unclouded, white as alabaster, and rendered still more beautiful by the few tresses of pale auburn hair that escaped from under the head-tire. The features were of a noble yet softened character, although painfully emaciated; and not a shadow of colour tinged her upturned lip.