The Mysteries of Udolpho

Perceiving her spirits unequal to the task she had assigned herself of

visiting the deserted rooms of the chateau this night, when she left

the library, she walked into the garden, and down to the terrace, that

overhung the river. The sun was now set; but, under the dark branches

of the almond trees, was seen the saffron glow of the west, spreading

beyond the twilight of middle air. The bat flitted silently by; and,

now and then, the mourning note of the nightingale was heard. The

circumstances of the hour brought to her recollection some lines, which

she had once heard St. Aubert recite on this very spot, and she had now

a melancholy pleasure in repeating them.

SONNET

Now the bat circles on the breeze of eve,

That creeps, in shudd'ring fits, along the wave,

And trembles 'mid the woods, and through the cave

Whose lonely sighs the wanderer deceive;

For oft, when melancholy charms his mind,

He thinks the Spirit of the rock he hears,

Nor listens, but with sweetly-thrilling fears,

To the low, mystic murmurs of the wind!

Now the bat circles, and the twilight-dew

Falls silent round, and, o'er the mountain-cliff,

The gleaming wave, and far-discover'd skiff,

Spreads the gray veil of soft, harmonious hue.

So falls o'er Grief the dew of pity's tear

Dimming her lonely visions of despair.

Emily, wandering on, came to St. Aubert's favourite plane-tree, where so

often, at this hour, they had sat beneath the shade together, and with

her dear mother so often had conversed on the subject of a future state.

How often, too, had her father expressed the comfort he derived from

believing, that they should meet in another world! Emily, overcome by

these recollections, left the plane-tree, and, as she leaned pensively

on the wall of the terrace, she observed a group of peasants dancing

gaily on the banks of the Garonne, which spread in broad expanse below,

and reflected the evening light. What a contrast they formed to the

desolate, unhappy Emily! They were gay and debonnaire, as they were wont

to be when she, too, was gay--when St. Aubert used to listen to their

merry music, with a countenance beaming pleasure and benevolence. Emily,

having looked for a moment on this sprightly band, turned away, unable

to bear the remembrances it excited; but where, alas! could she turn,

and not meet new objects to give acuteness to grief?

As she walked slowly towards the house, she was met by Theresa. 'Dear

ma'amselle,' said she, 'I have been seeking you up and down this half

hour, and was afraid some accident had happened to you. How can you like

to wander about so in this night air! Do come into the house. Think what

my poor master would have said, if he could see you. I am sure, when my

dear lady died, no gentleman could take it more to heart than he did,

yet you know he seldom shed a tear.'