"But left long wrecks behind, and now again, Borne in our old unchanged career, we move; Thou tendest wildly onwards to the main, And I--to loving _one_ I should not love. "The current I behold will sweep beneath Her native walls and murmur at her feet; Her eyes will look on thee, when she shall breathe The twilight air, unharm'd by summer's heat. "She will look on thee,--I have look'd on thee, Full of that thought; and, from that moment, ne'er Thy waters could I dream of, name, or see, Without the inseparable sigh for her! "Her bright eyes will be imaged in thy stream,-- Yes! they will meet the wave I gaze on now: Mine cannot witness, even in a dream, That happy wave repass me in its flow! "The wave that bears my tears returns no more: Will she return by whom that wave shall sweep?-- Both tread thy banks, both wander on thy shore, I by thy source, she by the dark-blue deep. "But that which keepeth us apart is not Distance, nor depth of wave, nor space of earth. But the distraction of a various lot, As various as the climates of our birth. "A stranger loves the lady of the land, Born far beyond the mountains, but his blood Is all meridian, as if never fann'd By the black wind that chills the polar flood. "My blood is all meridian; were it not, I had not left my clime, nor should I be, In spite of tortures, ne'er to be forgot, A slave again of love,--at least of thee. "'Tis vain to struggle--let me perish young-- Live as I lived, and love as I have loved; To dust if I return, from dust I sprung, And then, at least, my heart can ne'er be moved." On arriving at Bologna and receiving no further intelligence from the Contessa, he began to be of opinion, as we shall perceive in the annexed interesting letters, that he should act most prudently, for all parties, by returning to Venice. [Footnote 33: The Po.] * * * * * LETTER 330. TO MR. HOPPNER. "Bologna, June 6. 1819.