volume03 [7]
consent, endeavoured by occasional Serenades, to convince his Mistress that his attachment still existed. His stratagem had not the desired effect. Antonia was far from supposing that this nightly music was intended as a compliment to her: She was too modest to think herself worthy such attentions; and concluding them to be addressed to some neighbouring Lady, She grieved to find that they were offered by Lorenzo.
The air which was played, was plaintive and melodious. It accorded with the state of Antonia's mind, and She listened with pleasure. After a symphony of some length, it was succeeded by the sound of voices, and Antonia distinguished the following words.
SERENADE
Chorus
Oh! Breathe in gentle strain, my Lyre! 'Tis here that Beauty loves to rest: Describe the pangs of fond desire, Which rend a faithful Lover's breast.
Song
In every heart to find a Slave, In every Soul to fix his reign, In bonds to lead the wise and brave, And make the Captives kiss his chain, Such is the power of Love, and Oh! I grieve so well Love's power to know.
In sighs to pass the live-long day, To taste a short and broken sleep, For one dear Object far away, All others scorned, to watch and weep, Such are the pains of Love, and Oh! I grieve so well Love's pains to know!
To read consent in virgin eyes, To press the lip ne'er prest till then To hear the sigh of transport rise, And kiss, and kiss, and kiss again, Such are thy pleasures, Love, But Oh! When shall my heart thy pleasures know?
Chorus
Now hush, my Lyre! My voice be still! Sleep, gentle Maid! May fond desire With amorous thoughts thy visions fill, Though still my voice, and hushed my Lyre.
The Music ceased: The Performers dispersed, and silence prevailed through the Street. Antonia quitted the window with regret: She as usual recommended herself to the protection of St. Rosolia, said her accustomed prayers, and retired to bed. Sleep was not long absent, and his presence relieved her from her terrors and inquietude
It was almost two o'clock before the lustful Monk ventured to bend his steps towards Antonia's dwelling. It has been already mentioned that the Abbey was at no great distance from the Strada di San Iago. He reached the House unobserved. Here He stopped, and hesitated for a moment. He reflected on the enormity of the crime, the consequences of a discovery, and the probability, after what had passed, of Elvira's suspecting him to be her Daughter's Ravisher: On the other hand it was suggested that She could do no more than suspect; that no proofs of his guilt could be produced; that it would seem impossible for the rape to have been committed without Antonia's knowing when, where, or by whom; and finally, He believed that his fame was too firmly established to be shaken by the unsupported accusations of two unknown Women. This latter argument was perfectly false: He knew not how uncertain is the air of popular applause, and that a moment suffices to make him today the detestation of the world, who yesterday was its Idol. The result of the Monk's deliberations was that He should proceed in his enterprize. He ascended the steps leading to the House. No sooner did He touch the door with the silver Myrtle, than it flew open, and presented him with a free passage. He entered, and the door closed after him of its own accord.
Guided by the moonbeams, He proceeded up the Staircase with slow and cautious steps. He looked round him every moment with apprehension and anxiety. He saw a Spy in every shadow, and heard a voice in every murmur of the night breeze. Consciousness of the guilty business on which He was employed appalled his heart, and rendered it more timid than a Woman's. Yet still He proceeded. He reached the door of Antonia's chamber. He stopped, and listened. All was hushed within. The total silence persuaded him that his intended Victim was retired to rest, and He ventured to lift up the Latch. The door was fastened, and resisted his efforts: But
The air which was played, was plaintive and melodious. It accorded with the state of Antonia's mind, and She listened with pleasure. After a symphony of some length, it was succeeded by the sound of voices, and Antonia distinguished the following words.
SERENADE
Chorus
Oh! Breathe in gentle strain, my Lyre! 'Tis here that Beauty loves to rest: Describe the pangs of fond desire, Which rend a faithful Lover's breast.
Song
In every heart to find a Slave, In every Soul to fix his reign, In bonds to lead the wise and brave, And make the Captives kiss his chain, Such is the power of Love, and Oh! I grieve so well Love's power to know.
In sighs to pass the live-long day, To taste a short and broken sleep, For one dear Object far away, All others scorned, to watch and weep, Such are the pains of Love, and Oh! I grieve so well Love's pains to know!
To read consent in virgin eyes, To press the lip ne'er prest till then To hear the sigh of transport rise, And kiss, and kiss, and kiss again, Such are thy pleasures, Love, But Oh! When shall my heart thy pleasures know?
Chorus
Now hush, my Lyre! My voice be still! Sleep, gentle Maid! May fond desire With amorous thoughts thy visions fill, Though still my voice, and hushed my Lyre.
The Music ceased: The Performers dispersed, and silence prevailed through the Street. Antonia quitted the window with regret: She as usual recommended herself to the protection of St. Rosolia, said her accustomed prayers, and retired to bed. Sleep was not long absent, and his presence relieved her from her terrors and inquietude
It was almost two o'clock before the lustful Monk ventured to bend his steps towards Antonia's dwelling. It has been already mentioned that the Abbey was at no great distance from the Strada di San Iago. He reached the House unobserved. Here He stopped, and hesitated for a moment. He reflected on the enormity of the crime, the consequences of a discovery, and the probability, after what had passed, of Elvira's suspecting him to be her Daughter's Ravisher: On the other hand it was suggested that She could do no more than suspect; that no proofs of his guilt could be produced; that it would seem impossible for the rape to have been committed without Antonia's knowing when, where, or by whom; and finally, He believed that his fame was too firmly established to be shaken by the unsupported accusations of two unknown Women. This latter argument was perfectly false: He knew not how uncertain is the air of popular applause, and that a moment suffices to make him today the detestation of the world, who yesterday was its Idol. The result of the Monk's deliberations was that He should proceed in his enterprize. He ascended the steps leading to the House. No sooner did He touch the door with the silver Myrtle, than it flew open, and presented him with a free passage. He entered, and the door closed after him of its own accord.
Guided by the moonbeams, He proceeded up the Staircase with slow and cautious steps. He looked round him every moment with apprehension and anxiety. He saw a Spy in every shadow, and heard a voice in every murmur of the night breeze. Consciousness of the guilty business on which He was employed appalled his heart, and rendered it more timid than a Woman's. Yet still He proceeded. He reached the door of Antonia's chamber. He stopped, and listened. All was hushed within. The total silence persuaded him that his intended Victim was retired to rest, and He ventured to lift up the Latch. The door was fastened, and resisted his efforts: But