We have journeyed towards the spring that has been hastening to meet us from the south; and though our weather was at first abominable, we have now warm sunny days, and soft winds, and a sky of deep azure, the most serene I ever saw. The heat in this city to-day, is like that of London in the midst of summer. My spirits and health sympathize in the change. Indeed, before I left London, my spirits were as feeble as my health, and I had demands upon them which I found difficult to supply. I have read _Foliage_:--with most of the poems I was already familiar. What a delightful poem the “Nymphs” is! especially the second part. It is truly _poetical_ in the intense and emphatic sense of the word. If six hundred miles were not between us, I should say what pity that _glib_ was not omitted, and that the poem is not as faultless as it is beautiful. But for fear I should _spoil_ your next poem, I will not let slip a word on the subject. Give my love to Marianne and her sister, and tell Marianne she defrauded me of a kiss by not waking me when she went away, and that as I have no better mode of conveying it, I must take the best, and ask you to pay the debt. When shall I see you all again? Oh that it might be in Italy! I confess that the thought of how long we may be divided, makes me very melancholy. Adieu, my dear friend. Write soon. Ever most affectionately yours, P. B. S. * * * * * Livorno, _August 15, 1819_. My dear Friend,--How good of you to write to us so often, and such kind letters! But it is like lending to a beggar. What can I offer in return? Though surrounded by suffering and disquietude, and latterly almost overcome by our strange misfortune, I have not been idle. My Prometheus is finished, and I am also on the eve of completing another work, totally different from anything you might conjecture that I should write, of a more popular kind; and, if anything of mine could deserve attention, of higher claims. “Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, till thou approve the performance.”