The Mysteries of Udolpho

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. Having glanced round the little circle of her acquaintance

without being detained by a suspicion as to whom they could be

addressed, she was compelled to rest in uncertainty; an uncertainty

which would have been more painful to an idle mind than it was to hers.

She had no leisure to suffer this circumstance, trifling at first, to

swell into importance by frequent remembrance. The little vanity it had

excited (for the incertitude which forbade her to presume upon having

inspired the sonnet, forbade her also to disbelieve it) passed away,

and the incident was dismissed from her thoughts amid her books, her

studies, and the exercise of social charities.

Soon after this period, her anxiety was awakened by the indisposition of

her father, who was attacked with a fever; which, though not thought to

be of a dangerous kind, gave a severe shock to his constitution.

Madame St. Aubert and Emily attended him with unremitting care; but

his recovery was very slow, and, as he advanced towards health, Madame

seemed to decline. The first scene he visited, after he was well enough to take the

air, was his favourite fishing-house. A basket of provisions was sent

thither, with books, and Emily's lute; for fishing-tackle he had no use,

for he never could find amusement in torturing or destroying.