hat it
was not always so, I was a sufficient proof; for there was one image
that alone haunted me in the midst of all this sublimity and beauty, and
turned it to a mockery and a dream!

The snow on the mountain would not let us ascend; and being weary of
waiting and of being visited by the guide every two hours to let us know
that the weather would not do, we returned, you homewards, and I to
London--

"Italiam, Italiam!"

You know the anxious expectations with which I set out:--now hear the
result--

As the vessel sailed up the Thames, the air thickened with the
consciousness of being near her, and I "heaved her name pantingly
forth." As I approached the house, I could not help thinking of the
lines--

"How near am I to a happiness, That earth exceeds not! Not another like
it. The treasures of the deep are not so precious As are the conceal'd
comforts of a man Lock'd up in woman's love. I scent the air Of
blessings when I come but near the house. What a delicious breath true
love sends forth! The violet-beds not sweeter. Now for a welcome Able
to draw men's envies upon man: A kiss now that will hang upon my lip, As
sweet as morning dew upon a rose, And full as long!"

I saw her, but I saw at the first glance that there was something amiss.
It was with much difficulty and after several pressing intreaties that
she was prevailed on to come up into the room; and when she did, she
stood at the door, cold, distant, averse; and when at length she was
persuaded by my repeated remonstrances to come and take my hand, and I
offered to touch her lips, she turned her head and shrunk from my
embraces, as if quite alienated or mortally offended. I asked what it
could mean? What had I done in her absence to have incurred her
displeasure? Why had she not written to me? I could get only short,
sullen, disconnected answers, as if there was something labouring in her
mind which she either could not or would not impart. I hardly knew how
to bear this first reception after so long an absence, and so different
from the one my sentiments towards her merited; but I thought it
possible it might be prudery (as I had returned without having actually
accomplished what I went about) or that she had taken offence at
something in my letters. She saw how much I was hurt. I asked her, "If
she was altered since I went away?"--"No." "If there was any one else
who had been so fortunate as to gain her favourable opinion?"--"No