Emerging from the deep recesses of the
woods, the glade opened to the distant landscape, where the rich
pastures and vine-covered slopes of Gascony gradually declined to the
plains; and there, on the winding shores of the Garonne, groves, and
hamlets, and villas--their outlines softened by distance, melted from
the eye into one rich harmonious tint.
This, too, was the favourite retreat of St. Aubert, to which he
frequently withdrew from the fervour of noon, with his wife, his
daughter, and his books; or came at the sweet evening hour to welcome
the silent dusk, or to listen for the music of the nightingale.
Sometimes, too, he brought music of his own, and awakened every fairy
echo with the tender accents of his oboe; and often have the tones of
Emily's voice drawn sweetness from the waves, over which they
trembled.
It was in one of these excursions to this spot, that she observed the
following lines written with a pencil on a part of the wainscot:
SONNET
Go, pencil! faithful to thy master's sighs!
Go--tell the Goddess of the fairy scene,
When next her light steps wind these wood-walks green,
Whence all his tears, his tender sorrows, rise;
Ah! paint her form, her soul-illumin'd eyes,
The sweet expression of her pensive face,
The light'ning smile, the animated grace--
The portrait well the lover's voice supplies;
Speaks all his heart must feel, his tongue would say:
Yet ah! not all his heart must sadly feel!
How oft the flow'ret's silken leaves conceal
The drug that steals the vital spark away!
And who that gazes on that angel-smile,
Would fear its charm, or think it could beguile!
These lines were not inscribed to any person; Emily therefore could
not apply them to herself, though she was undoubtedly the nymph of
these shades.
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