Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB
[graphic]

Τ

MARIA

MOULINES

HO' I hate salutations and greetings in the market-place, yet when we got into the middle of this, I stopp'd to take my last look and last farewel of Maria.

Maria, though not tall, was nevertheless of the first order of fine forms- -affliction had touch'd her looks with something that was scarce earthly-still she was feminine-and so much was there about her of all that the heart wishes, or the eye looks for in woman, that could the traces be ever worn out of her brain, and those of Eliza out of mine, she should not only eat of my bread and drink of my own cup, but Maria should lie in my bosom, and be unto me as a daughter.

Adieu, poor luckless maiden !-Imbibe the oil and wine which the compassion of a stranger, as he journeyeth on his way, now pours into thy wounds -the Being who has twice bruised thee can only bind them up for ever.

T

THE BOURBONNOIS

HERE was nothing from which I had painted out for myself so joyous a riot of the affections, as in this journey in the vintage, through this part of France; but pressing through this gate of sorrow to it, my sufferings have totally unfitted me: in every scene of festivity I saw Maria in the background of the piece, sitting pensive under her poplar; and I had got almost to Lyons before I was able to cast a shade across her.

-Dear sensibility! source inexhausted of all that's precious in our joys, or costly in our sorrows! thou chainest thy martyr down upon his bed of straw --and 'tis thou who lift'st him up to HEAVEN-Eternal fountain of our feelings!—'tis here I trace thee— and this is thy "divinity which stirs within me not that in some sad and sickening moments, “my soul shrinks back upon herself, and startles at destruction" -mere pomp of words!-but that I feel some generous joys and generous cares beyond myself

[ocr errors]

-all comes from thee, great- great SENSORIUM of the world! which vibrates, if a hair of our heads but falls upon the ground, in the remotest desert of thy creation- -Touch'd with thee, Eugenius draws my curtain when I languish-hears my tale of

« ZurückWeiter »