On the ensuing morning Mrs. Robinson had only a confused idea of what had passed, nor could be convinced of the fact till the manuscript was produced. She declared that she had been dreaming of mad Jemmy throughout the night, but was perfectly unconscious of having been awake while she composed the poem, or of the circumstances narrated by her daughter. Mrs. Robinson, in the following summer, determined on another continental tour, purposing to remain some time at Spa. She longed once more to experience the friendly greeting and liberal kindness which even her acknowledged talents had in her native country failed to procure. She quitted London in July, 1792, accompanied by her mother and daughter. The susceptible and energetic mind, fortunately for its possessor, is endowed with an elastic power, that enables it to rise again from the benumbing effects of those adverse strokes of fortune to which it is but too vulnerable. If a lively imagination add poignancy to disappointment, it also has in itself resources unknown to more equal temperaments. In the midst of the depressing feelings which Mrs. Robinson experienced in once more becoming a wanderer from her home, she courted the inspiration of the muse, and soothed, by the following beautiful stanzas, the melancholy sensations that oppressed her heart. "STANZAS "WRITTEN BETWEEN DOVER AND CALAIS, "JULY 20, 1792 "Bounding billow, cease thy motion, Bear me not so swiftly o'er; Cease thy roaring, foamy ocean, I will tempt thy rage no more. "Ah! within my bosom beating, Varying passions wildly reign; Love, with proud Resentment meeting, Throbs by turns, of joy and pain. "Joy, that far from foes I wander, Where their taunts can reach no more; Pain, that woman's heart grows fonder When her dream of bliss is o'er! "Love, by fickle fancy banish'd, Spurn'd by hope, indignant flies; Yet when love and hope are vanish'd, Restless mem'ry never dies. "Far I go, where fate shall lead me, Far across the troubled deep; Where no stranger's ear shall heed me, Where no eye for me shall weep. "Proud has been my fatal passion! Proud my injured heart shall be! While each thought, each inclination, Still shall prove me worthy thee! "Not one sigh shall tell my story; Not one tear my cheek shall stain; Silent grief shall be my glory,-- Grief, that stoops not to complain! "Let the bosom prone to ranging, Still by ranging seek a cure; Mine disdains the thought of changing, Proudly destin'd to endure. "Yet, ere far from all I treasur'd, ----ere I bid adieu; Ere my days of pain are measur'd, Take the song that's still thy due!