But why the tale prolong?—His only child, His darling JULIA on the stranger smil’d. Her little arts a fretful sire to please, Her gentle gaiety, and native ease Had won his soul; and rapturous Fancy shed Her golden lights, and tints of rosy red. But ah! few days had pass’d, ere the bright vision fled! When evening ting’d the lake’s ethereal blue, And her deep shades irregularly threw; Their shifting sail dropt gently from the cove, Down by St. Herbert’s consecrated grove;[28] Whence erst the chanted hymn, the taper’d rite Amus’d the fisher’s solitary night: And still the mitred window, richly wreath’d, A sacred calm thro’ the brown foliage breath’d. The wild deer, starting thro’ the silent glade, With fearful gaze their various course survey’d. High hung in air the hoary goat reclin’d, His streaming beard the sport of every wind; And, while the coot her jet-wing lov’d to lave, Rock’d on the bosom of the sleepless wave; The eagle rush’d from Skiddaw’s purple crest, A cloud still brooding o’er her giant-nest. And now the moon had dimm’d, with dewy ray. The few fine flushes of departing day; O’er the wide water’s deep serene she hung, And her broad lights on every mountain flung; When lo! a sudden blast the vessel blew,[29] And to the surge consign’d the little crew. All, all escap’d—but ere the lover bore His faint and faded JULIA, to the shore, Her sense had fled!—Exhausted by the storm, A fatal trance hang o’er her pallid form; Her closing eye a trembling lustre fir’d; ’Twas life’s last spark—it flutter’d and expir’d! The father strew’d his white hairs in the wind, Call’d on his child—nor linger’d long behind: And FLORIO liv’d to see the willow wave, With many an evening-whisper, o’er their grave. Yes, FLORIO liv’d—and, still of each possest, The father cherish’d, and the maid caress’d! For ever would the fond enthusiast rove, With JULIA’S spirit, thro’ the shadowy grove; Gaze with delight on every scene she plann’d, Kiss every flowret planted by her hand. Ah! still he trac’d her steps along the glade, When hazy hues and glimmering lights betray’d Half-viewless forms; still listen’d as the breeze Heav’d its deep sobs among the aged trees; And at each pause her melting accents caught, In sweet delirium of romantic thought! Dear was the grot that shunn’d the blaze of day; She gave its spars to shoot a trembling ray. The spring, that bubbled from its inmost cell, Murmur’d of JULIA’S virtues as it fell; And o’er the dripping moss, the fretted stone, In FLORIO’S ear breath’d language not its own. Her charm around the enchantress MEMORY threw, A charm that sooths the mind, and sweetens too! But is Her magic only felt below? Say, thro’ what brighter realms she bids it flow; To what pure beings, in a nobler sphere,[30] She yields delight but faintly imag’d here: All that till now their rapt researches knew, Not call’d in slow succession to review; But, as a landscape meets the eye of day, At once presented to their glad survey!