a, sighing.

'Thy master was love-crossed, then--try thy hand at a gayer air. Nay,
girl, give the instrument to me.' As Nydia obeyed, her hand touched his,
and, with that slight touch, her breast heaved--her cheek flushed. Ione
and Glaucus, occupied with each other, perceived not those signs of
strange and premature emotions, which preyed upon a heart that,
nourished by imagination, dispensed with hope.

And now, broad, blue, bright, before them, spread that halcyon sea, fair
as at this moment, seventeen centuries from that date, I behold it
rippling on the same divinest shores. Clime that yet enervates with a
soft and Circean spell--that moulds us insensibly, mysteriously, into
harmony with thyself, banishing the thought of austerer labor, the
voices of wild ambition, the contests and the roar of life; filling us
with gentle and subduing dreams, making necessary to our nature that
which is its least earthly portion, so that the very air inspires us
with the yearning and thirst of love. Whoever visits thee seems to leave
earth and its harsh cares behind--to enter by the Ivory gate into the
Land of Dreams. The young and laughing Hours of the PRESENT--the Hours,
those children of Saturn, which he hungers ever to devour, seem snatched
from his grasp. The past--the future--are forgotten; we enjoy but the
breathing time. Flower of the world's garden--Fountain of Delight--Italy
of Italy--beautiful, benign Campania!--vain were, indeed, the Titans, if
on this spot they yet struggled for another heaven! Here, if God meant
this working-day life for a perpetual holiday, who would not sigh to
dwell for ever--asking nothing, hoping nothing, fearing nothing, while
thy skies shine over him--while thy seas sparkle at his feet--while
thine air brought him sweet messages from the violet and the orange--and
while the heart, resigned to--beating with--but one emotion, could find
the lips and the eyes, which flatter it (vanity of vanities!) that love
can defy custom, and be eternal?

It was then in this clime--on those seas, that the Athenian gazed upon a
face that might have suited the nymph, the spirit of the place: feeding
his eyes on the changeful roses of that softest cheek, happy beyond the
happiness of common life, loving, and knowing himself beloved.

In the tale of human passion, in past ages, there is something of
interest even in the remoteness of the time. We love to feel within us
the bond which unites the most distant