re sacred. I have shut myself from the idlers
who would molest me: I have built a temple in my heart: I have set
within it a divinity; and the vanities of the world shall not profane
the spot which has been consecrated to you. Our parting, Emily,--do you
recall it? Your hand clasped in mine; your cheek resting, though but
for an instant, on my bosom; and the tears which love called forth, but
which virtue purified even at their source. Never were hearts so near,
yet so divided; never was there an hour so tender, yet so unaccompanied
with danger. Passion, grief, madness, all sank beneath your voice, and
lay hushed like a deep sea within my soul! "Tu abbia veduto il leone
ammansarsi alla sola tua voce."

'Ultime lettere di Jacopo Ortis.

I tore myself from you; I hurried through the wood; I stood by the lake,
on whose banks I had so often wandered with you: I bared my breast to
the winds; I bathed my temples with the waters. Fool that I was! the
fever, the fever was within! But it is not thus, my adored and beautiful
friend, that I should console and support you. Even as I write,
passion melts into tenderness, and pours itself in softness over your
remembrance. The virtue so gentle, yet so strong; the feelings so
kind, yet so holy; the tears which wept over the decision your lips
proclaimed--these are the recollections which come over me like dew. Let
your own heart, my Emily, be your reward; and know that your lover only
forgets that he adores, to remember that he respects you.

FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. ---------- Park.

I could not bear the tumult and noise of London. I sighed for solitude,
that I might muse over your remembrance undisturbed. I came here
yesterday. It is the home of my childhood. I am surrounded on all sides
by the scenes and images consecrated by the fresh recollections of my
unsullied years. They are not changed. The seasons which come and depart
renew in them the havoc which they make. If the December destroys, the
April revives; but man has but one spring, and the desolation of the
heart but one winter! In this very room have I sat and brooded over
dreams and hopes which--but no matter--those dreams could never show
me a vision to equal you, or those hopes hold out to me a blessing so
precious as your love.

Do you remember, or rather can you ever forget, that moment in which the
great depths of our souls were revealed? Ah! not in the scene in which
such vows should have been whis