The inward discontent and household griefs Which he subdued in silence; and alas! Pity with admiration mingling then, Alloy’d and lower’d and humanized my love, Till to the level of my lowliness It brought him down; and in this treacherous heart Too often the repining thought arose, That if Florinda had been Roderick’s Queen, Then might domestic peace and happiness Have bless’d his home and crown’d our wedded loves. Too often did that sinful thought recur, Too feebly the temptation was repell’d. See, Father, I have probed my inmost soul; Have search’d to its remotest source the sin; And tracing it through all its specious forms Of fair disguisement, I present it now, Even as it lies before the eye of God, Bare and exposed, convicted and condemn’d. One eve, as in the bowers which overhang The glen where Tagus rolls between his rocks I roam’d alone, alone I met the King. His countenance was troubled, and his speech Like that of one whose tongue to light discourse At fits constrain’d, betrays a heart disturb’d: I too, albeit unconscious of his thoughts, With anxious looks reveal’d what wandering words In vain essay’d to hide. A little while Did this oppressive intercourse endure, Till our eyes met in silence, each to each Telling their mutual tale, then consciously Together fell abash’d. He took my hand And said, Florinda, would that thou and I Earlier had met! oh what a blissful lot Had then been mine, who might have found in thee The sweet companion and the friend endear’d, A fruitful wife and crown of earthly joys! Thou too shouldst then have been of womankind Happiest, as now the loveliest.... And with that, First giving way to passion first disclosed, He press’d upon my lips a guilty kiss, ... Alas! more guiltily received than given. Passive and yielding, and yet self-reproach’d, Trembling I stood, upheld in his embrace; When coming steps were heard, and Roderick said, Meet me to-morrow, I beseech thee, here, Queen of my heart! Oh meet me here again, My own Florinda, meet me here again!... Tongue, eye, and pressure of the impassion’d hand Solicited and urged the ardent suit, And from my hesitating hurried lips The word of promise fatally was drawn. O Roderick, Roderick! hadst thou told me all Thy purpose at that hour, from what a world Of woe had thou and I.... The bitterness Of that reflection overcame her then, And choak’d her speech. But Roderick sate the while Covering his face with both his hands close-prest, His head bow’d down, his spirit to such point Of sufferance knit, as one who patiently Awaits the uplifted sword. Till now, said she, Resuming her confession, I had lived, If not in innocence, yet self-deceived, And of my perilous and sinful state Unconscious. But this fatal hour reveal’d To my awakening soul her guilt and shame; And in those agonies with which remorse,