 | The triumph of music |  |
One evening, aided by Lucilio's arms,
She reach'd a vale of most romantic charms;
She paus'd, where, issuing from a mossy cell,
The gurgling waters sought a grassy dell:
There, of a graceful shape, and tender hue,
O'ershadowing a lake, a willow grew,
Whose pensile branches from the bank descend,
As thirsting for the stream, to which they bend:
And near it, flowers, half-clos'd, appear to shun
Even the heat of a declining sun.
Lucilio prais'd the scene, to rapture warm'd
By scenes, for love and contemplation form'd;
Sudden he heard his lovely partner sigh;
He saw quick anguish in her moisten'd eye:
Her tears gush'd forth:—“Forgive,” she said, “these tears!
Perchance they spring from visionary fears;
Forgive, my generous lord! the signs you see,
I want the firmness, I should learn from thee;
The death of that kind aunt, whose fost'ring praise
Was constant sunshine to my childish days,
Dread of my father, and Manfredi's grief
O'er-load my heart, tho' love is its relief,
Its duty, and its pride!”—Lucilio prest
The mournful beauty to his glowing breast
And chacing from her eyes the swelling tear,
O'er-power'd her self-reproach with praise sincere.
His praise was, to her mind, like heavenly streams
Of inspiration, in a prophet's dreams;
She sat, absorb'd, in tender thought awhile,
Then sung her feelings, with a plaintive smile.
She reach'd a vale of most romantic charms;
She paus'd, where, issuing from a mossy cell,
The gurgling waters sought a grassy dell:
There, of a graceful shape, and tender hue,
O'ershadowing a lake, a willow grew,
Whose pensile branches from the bank descend,
As thirsting for the stream, to which they bend:
103
Even the heat of a declining sun.
Lucilio prais'd the scene, to rapture warm'd
By scenes, for love and contemplation form'd;
Sudden he heard his lovely partner sigh;
He saw quick anguish in her moisten'd eye:
Her tears gush'd forth:—“Forgive,” she said, “these tears!
Perchance they spring from visionary fears;
Forgive, my generous lord! the signs you see,
I want the firmness, I should learn from thee;
The death of that kind aunt, whose fost'ring praise
Was constant sunshine to my childish days,
Dread of my father, and Manfredi's grief
O'er-load my heart, tho' love is its relief,
Its duty, and its pride!”—Lucilio prest
The mournful beauty to his glowing breast
And chacing from her eyes the swelling tear,
O'er-power'd her self-reproach with praise sincere.
His praise was, to her mind, like heavenly streams
Of inspiration, in a prophet's dreams;
She sat, absorb'd, in tender thought awhile,
Then sung her feelings, with a plaintive smile.
| The triumph of music | |