I can only offer as my excuse, that they were not erased at the request of a dear friend, with whom added years of intercourse only add to my apprehension of its value, and who would have had more right than any one to complain, that she has not been able to extinguish in me the very power of delineating sad ness. Naples, Dec. 20, 1818. ROSALIND AND HELEN. Rosalind, Helen, and her Child. Scene, the Shore of the Lake of Como. I Helen. COME hither, my sweet Rosalind. 'Tis long since thou and I have met; And yet methinks it were unkind Come sit by me. I see thee stand None doth behold us now: the power If thou depart in scorn: oh! come, Remember, this is Italy, And we are exiles. Talk with me Of that our land, whose wilds and floods, ' Were dearer than these chesnut woods: Which that we have abandoned now, Speak to me. Leave me not.-When morn did come, When for one hour we parted,—do not frown: I would not chide thee, though thy faith is broken: Rosalind. Is it a dream, or do I see I share thy crime. I cannot choose Nor ever did I love thee less, Though mourning o'er thy wickedness Even with a sister's woe. I knew Wondering I blush, and weep that thou Should'st love me still,-thou only !--There, Let us sit on that grey stone, Till our mournful talk be done, Helen. Alas!not there; I cannot bear A sound from thee, Rosalind dear, In the dell of yon dark chesnut wood Is a stone seat, a solitude Less like our own. The ghost of peace Will not desert this spot. To-morrow, If thy kind feelings should not cease, Where you are going? This is not the way, Helen. Yes I know I was bewildered, Kiss me, and be gay, Henry. I do not know But it might break any one's heart to see Helen. It is a gentle child, my friend. Go home, We only cried with joy to see each other; The boy Lifted a sudden look upon his mother, And in the gleam of forced and hollow joy Which lightened o'er her face, laughed with the glee Of light and unsuspecting infancy, 66 And whispered in her ear, Bring home with you That sweet strange lady-friend." Then off he flew, But stopt, and beckoned with a meaning smile, Where the road turned. Pale Rosalind the while, Hiding her face, stood weeping silently. In silence then they took the way Pursuing still the path that wound The vast and knotted trees around Thro' which slow shades were wandering, To a deep lawny dell they came, To a stone seat beside a spring, O'er which the columned wood did frame A roofless temple, like the fane Where, ere new creeds could faith obtain, The overhanging deity. O'er this fair fountain hung the sky, The snake, The pale snake, that with eager breath Creeps here his noontide thirst to slake, |