[3] "Ils sont consolés par l'apothéose." This is the only instance in which I have not given, as nearly as possible, the English word that answered most exactly; but I confess one so long as "apotheosis" fairly baffled my efforts to get it into rhythm. It is curious to observe how many Pagan observances were grafted on the Roman Catholic worship. Canonization is but a Christian apotheosis, only the deceased turned into saints instead of gods.--L. E. L. [4] Caprea. [5] The retreat of Pompey [6] Nisida. CHAPTER V. Corinne revived: the affecting interest of Oswald's look restored her to some composure. The Neapolitans were surprised at the gloomy character of her poetry, much as they admired it. They thought it the Muse's task to dissipate the cares of life, and not to explore their terrible secrets; but the English who were present seemed deeply touched. Their own melancholy, embellished by Italian imagination, delighted them. This lovely woman, whose features seemed designed to depict felicity--this child of the sun, a prey to hidden grief--was like a flower, still fresh and brilliant, but within whose leaves may be seen the first dark impress of that withering blight which soon shall lay it low. The party embarked to return: the glowing calm of the hour made it a luxury to be upon the sea. Goëthe has described, in a delicious romance, the passion felt in warm climates, for the water. A nymph of the flood boasts to the fisherman the charms of her abode; invites him to taste its refreshment, and, by degrees, allures him to his death. This magic of the tide resembles that of the basilisk, which fascinates by fear. The wave rising gently afar, swelling, and hurrying as it nears the shore, is but a type of passion, that dawns in softness, but soon grows invincible. Corinne put back her tresses, that she might better enjoy the air: her countenance was thus more beautiful than ever. The musicians, who followed in another boat, poured forth enchantments that harmonized with the stars, the sea, and the sweet intoxication of an Italian evening. "Oh, my heart's love!" whispered Oswald, "can I ever forget this day, or ever enjoy a happier?" His eyes filled with tears. One of his most seductive attributes was this ready yet restrained sensibility, which so oft, in spite of him, bedewed his lids: at such moments he was irresistible: sometimes even in the midst of an endearing pleasantry, a melting thrill stole on his mirth, and lent it a new, a noble charm. "Alas!" returned Corinne, "I hope not for another day like this; but be it blest, at least, as the last such of my life, if forbidden to prove the dawn of more endearing bliss." CHAPTER VI.