238 ADVERTIZEMENT TO ROSALIND AND HELEN. which I sent from Italy, was written after a day's excursion among those lovely mountains which surround what was once the retreat, and where is now the sepulchre, of Petrarch. If any one is inclined to condemn the insertion of the introductory lines, which image forth the sudden relief of a state of deep despondency by the radiant visions disclosed by the sudden burst of an Italian sunrise in autumn on the highest peak of those delightful mountains, I can only offer as my excuse, that they were not erased at the request of a dear friend, with whom added years of intercourse only add to my apprehension of its value, and who would have had more right than any one to complain, that she has not been able to extinguish in me the very power of delineating sadness. NAPLES, Dec. 20, 1818. ROSALIND AND HELEN. ROSALIND, HELEN and her CHILD. HELEN. COME hither, my sweet Rosalind. Come sit by me. I see thee stand None doth behold us now: the power If thou depart in scorn: oh! come, And we are exiles. Talk with me Of that our land, whose wilds and floods, 10 20 Those heathy paths, that inland stream, come, 30 Leave me not. When morn did When evening fell upon our common home, But turn to me. Oh! by this cherished token And not my scornèd self who prayed to thee. ROSALIND. Is it a dream, or do I see And hear frail Helen? I would flee Nor ever did I love thee less, Though mourning o'er thy wickedness Even with a sister's woe. I knew 40 50 Wondering I blush, and weep that thou Should'st love me still,-thou only !—There, Let us sit on that grey stone, Till our mournful talk be done. HELEN. Alas! not there; I cannot bear Even here where now we meet. It stirs In the dell of yon dark chesnut wood Is a stone seat, a solitude Less like our own. 60 20 peace 70 The ghost of If thy kind feelings should not cease, We may sit here. ROSALIND. And I will follow. Thou lead, my sweet, HENRY. 'Tis Fenici's seat Where you are going? This is not the way, Mamma; it leads behind those trees that grow Close to the little river. HELEN. I was bewildered. Yes: I know: Kiss me, and be gay, Dear boy: why do you sob? In Shelley's edition we read a sound from thee. This is an obvious error; and I have followed Mr. Rossetti in substituting there for thee. The sound Helen finds so painful is "the murmur of the lake,' which recalls to her mind the wash of the waves about the fane where Lionel died (see line 1049 et seq.).—ED. HENRY. I do not know: 80 But it might break any one's heart to see HELEN. It is a gentle child, my friend. Go home, The boy Lifted a sudden look upon his mother, Of light and unsuspecting infancy, And whispered in her ear, "Bring home with you 90 That sweet strange lady-friend." Then off he flew, But stopped, and beckoned with a meaning smile, Where the road turned. Pale Rosalind the while, In silence then they took the way Pursuing still the path that wound Through which slow shades were wandering, To a stone seat beside a spring, 100 |