May clearly read, upon its heaven-writ scroll,
That high and firm resolve, which nerved the Roman soul.
Mrs. Sigourney.
55. On her forehead sitteth pride,
Crown'd with scorn, and falcon-eyed;
But she beneath, methinks, doth twine
Silken smiles, that seem divine.
Can such smiles be false and cold?
Can she, will she wed for gold?
Barry Cornwall.