Liber Amoris [2]
would spare frail mortals who might die with gazing.
S. I have no power to kill.
H. You have, you have--Your charms are irresistible as your will is inexorable. I wish I could see you always thus. But I would have no one else see you so. I am jealous of all eyes but my own. I should almost like you to wear a veil, and to be muffled up from head to foot; but even if you were, and not a glimpse of you could be seen, it would be to no purpose--you would only have to move, and you would be admired as the most graceful creature in the world. You smile--Well, if you were to be won by fine speeches--
S. You could supply them!
H. It is however no laughing matter with me; thy beauty kills me daily, and I shall think of nothing but thy charms, till the last word trembles on my tongue, and that will be thy name, my love--the name of my Infelice! You will live by that name, you rogue, fifty years after you are dead. Don't you thank me for that?
S. I have no such ambition, Sir. But Mrs. E---- is waiting.
H. She is not in love, like me. You look so handsome to-day, I cannot let you go. You have got a colour.
S. But you say I look best when I am pale.
H. When you are pale, I think so; but when you have a colour, I then think you still more beautiful. It is you that I admire; and whatever you are, I like best. I like you as Miss L----, I should like you still more as Mrs. ----. I once thought you were half inclined to be a prude, and I admired you as a "pensive nun, devout and pure." I now think you are more than half a coquet, and I like you for your roguery. The truth is, I am in love with you, my angel; and whatever you are, is to me the perfection of thy sex. I care not what thou art, while thou art still thyself. Smile but so, and turn my heart to what shape you please!
S. I am afraid, Sir, Mrs. E---- will think you have forgotten her.
H. I had, my charmer. But go, and make her a sweet apology, all graceful as thou art. One kiss! Ah! ought I not to think myself the happiest of men?
THE FLAGEOLET
H. Where have you been, my love?
S. I have been down to see my aunt, Sir.
H. And I hope she has been giving you good advice.
S. I did not go to ask her opinion about any thing.
H. And yet you seem anxious and agitated. You appear pale and dejected, as if your refusal of me had touched your own breast with pity. Cruel girl! you look at this moment heavenly-soft, saint-like, or resemble some graceful marble statue, in the moon's pale ray! Sadness only heightens the elegance of your features. How can I escape from you, when every new occasion, even your cruelty and scorn, brings out some new charm. Nay, your rejection of me, by the way in which you do it, is only a new link added to my chain. Raise those downcast eyes, bend as if an angel stooped, and kiss me. . . . Ah! enchanting little trembler! if such is thy sweetness where thou dost not love, what must thy love have been? I cannot think how any man, having the heart of one, could go and leave it.
S. No one did, that I know of.
H. Yes, you told me yourself he left you (though he liked you, and though he knew--Oh! gracious God! that you loved him) he left you because "the pride of birth would not permit a union."--For myself, I would leave a throne to ascend to the heaven of thy charms. I live but for thee, here--I only wish to live again to pass all eternity with thee. But even in another world, I suppose you would turn from me to seek him out who scorned you here.
S. If the proud scorn us here, in that place we shall all be equal.
H. Do not look so--do not talk so--unless you would drive me mad. I could worship you at this moment. Can I witness such perfection, and bear to think I have lost you for ever? Oh! let me hope! You see you can mould me as you like. You can lead me by the hand, like a little child; and with you my way would be like a little child's:--you could strew flowers in my path, and pour new life and hope into me. I should then indeed hail the return
S. I have no power to kill.
H. You have, you have--Your charms are irresistible as your will is inexorable. I wish I could see you always thus. But I would have no one else see you so. I am jealous of all eyes but my own. I should almost like you to wear a veil, and to be muffled up from head to foot; but even if you were, and not a glimpse of you could be seen, it would be to no purpose--you would only have to move, and you would be admired as the most graceful creature in the world. You smile--Well, if you were to be won by fine speeches--
S. You could supply them!
H. It is however no laughing matter with me; thy beauty kills me daily, and I shall think of nothing but thy charms, till the last word trembles on my tongue, and that will be thy name, my love--the name of my Infelice! You will live by that name, you rogue, fifty years after you are dead. Don't you thank me for that?
S. I have no such ambition, Sir. But Mrs. E---- is waiting.
H. She is not in love, like me. You look so handsome to-day, I cannot let you go. You have got a colour.
S. But you say I look best when I am pale.
H. When you are pale, I think so; but when you have a colour, I then think you still more beautiful. It is you that I admire; and whatever you are, I like best. I like you as Miss L----, I should like you still more as Mrs. ----. I once thought you were half inclined to be a prude, and I admired you as a "pensive nun, devout and pure." I now think you are more than half a coquet, and I like you for your roguery. The truth is, I am in love with you, my angel; and whatever you are, is to me the perfection of thy sex. I care not what thou art, while thou art still thyself. Smile but so, and turn my heart to what shape you please!
S. I am afraid, Sir, Mrs. E---- will think you have forgotten her.
H. I had, my charmer. But go, and make her a sweet apology, all graceful as thou art. One kiss! Ah! ought I not to think myself the happiest of men?
THE FLAGEOLET
H. Where have you been, my love?
S. I have been down to see my aunt, Sir.
H. And I hope she has been giving you good advice.
S. I did not go to ask her opinion about any thing.
H. And yet you seem anxious and agitated. You appear pale and dejected, as if your refusal of me had touched your own breast with pity. Cruel girl! you look at this moment heavenly-soft, saint-like, or resemble some graceful marble statue, in the moon's pale ray! Sadness only heightens the elegance of your features. How can I escape from you, when every new occasion, even your cruelty and scorn, brings out some new charm. Nay, your rejection of me, by the way in which you do it, is only a new link added to my chain. Raise those downcast eyes, bend as if an angel stooped, and kiss me. . . . Ah! enchanting little trembler! if such is thy sweetness where thou dost not love, what must thy love have been? I cannot think how any man, having the heart of one, could go and leave it.
S. No one did, that I know of.
H. Yes, you told me yourself he left you (though he liked you, and though he knew--Oh! gracious God! that you loved him) he left you because "the pride of birth would not permit a union."--For myself, I would leave a throne to ascend to the heaven of thy charms. I live but for thee, here--I only wish to live again to pass all eternity with thee. But even in another world, I suppose you would turn from me to seek him out who scorned you here.
S. If the proud scorn us here, in that place we shall all be equal.
H. Do not look so--do not talk so--unless you would drive me mad. I could worship you at this moment. Can I witness such perfection, and bear to think I have lost you for ever? Oh! let me hope! You see you can mould me as you like. You can lead me by the hand, like a little child; and with you my way would be like a little child's:--you could strew flowers in my path, and pour new life and hope into me. I should then indeed hail the return