"Ah, me! sweet lady," said she, "I believe that you were sent hither through such extraordinary ways, by Heaven itself, miraculously sent to this land to comfort and console me in my sorrows; and that you were out of the dark hold of the vessel restored to the light of day, to bring light to my darkened soul, and rescue it from the trouble it has been in; and so, not to keep you or myself longer in suspense, you shall know that to this island came your brother, Periander;" and then she detailed in regular succession the facts of his arrival, the triumphs and honours that he had won, and the difficulties he had conquered, as we have already described. She further told how the grace and beauty of Periander had awakened in her mind a sort of feeling that at first was not love, but simple kindness and admiration; how in time, with idleness and dwelling upon the subject, and accustoming herself to contemplate his graces, love began to represent him to her, not as a simple individual, but rather as a prince, that if he was not one, he deserved so to be. "This idea weighed upon my mind, and unthinkingly I suffered it to rest there, without making any resistance; and so by little and little I came to like him, to love him, and even to adore him as I have told you." She would have said more, if at this instant Polycarpa had not returned, desirous of amusing Auristella, with a small harp in her hands to which she was singing. Sinforosa was agitated; Auristella thunderstruck; but the emotion of the one, and the stupor of the other did not prevent them both from lending an attentive ear to the incomparable musician, who sang the following words in her own language, which Antonio afterwards translated thus-- SONG. If nothing, Cynthia, can avail To win thy lost heart back again, Give way to grief, relinquish life, 'Tis nothing worth, why not complain? The maiden pride with which thou fain The fatal passion would subdue, Itself will strike the murd'rous blow, Too late shalt thou thy silence rue. Poor broken heart! thy latest sigh Shall breathe at last thy secret woe; Far wiser had it timely told Its tale of sorrow long ago. Lamenting thee, the world shall learn How deep the love thy heart had cherished, And some perchance may vainly grieve To think how true a heart has perished.