Yet, O days of joy—­days, when eye spoke to eye, and voices, sweeter than the music of the swinging branches of the pines, or rivulet’s gentle murmur, answered mine—­yet, O days replete with beatitude, days of loved society—­days unutterably dear to me forlorn—­pass, O pass before me, making me in your memory forget what I am.  Behold, how my streaming eyes blot this senseless paper—­behold, how my features are convulsed by agonizing throes, at your mere recollection, now that, alone, my tears flow, my lips quiver, my cries fill the air, unseen, unmarked, unheard!  Yet, O yet, days of delight! let me dwell on your long-drawn hours!

As the cold increased upon us, we passed the Alps, and descended into Italy.  At the uprising of morn, we sat at our repast, and cheated our regrets by gay sallies or learned disquisitions.  The live-long day we sauntered on, still keeping in view the end of our journey, but careless of the hour of its completion.  As the evening star shone out, and the orange sunset, far in the west, marked the position of the dear land we had for ever left, talk, thought enchaining, made the hours fly—­O that we had lived thus for ever and for ever!  Of what consequence was it to our four hearts, that they alone were the fountains of life in the wide world?  As far as mere individual sentiment was concerned, we had rather be left thus united together, than if, each alone in a populous desert of unknown men, we had wandered truly companionless till life’s last term.  In this manner, we endeavoured to console each other; in this manner, true philosophy taught us to reason.

It was the delight of Adrian and myself to wait on Clara, naming her the little queen of the world, ourselves her humblest servitors.  When we arrived at a town, our first care was to select for her its most choice abode; to make sure that no harrowing relic remained of its former inhabitants; to seek food for her, and minister to her wants with assiduous tenderness.  Clara entered into our scheme with childish gaiety.  Her chief business was to attend on Evelyn; but it was her sport to array herself in splendid robes, adorn herself with sunny gems, and ape a princely state.  Her religion, deep and pure, did not teach her to refuse to blunt thus the keen sting of regret; her youthful vivacity made her enter, heart and soul, into these strange masquerades.

We had resolved to pass the ensuing winter at Milan, which, as being a large and luxurious city, would afford us choice of homes.  We had descended the Alps, and left far behind their vast forests and mighty crags.  We entered smiling Italy.  Mingled grass and corn grew in her plains, the unpruned vines threw their luxuriant branches around the elms.  The grapes, overripe, had fallen on the ground, or hung purple, or burnished green, among the red and yellow leaves.  The ears of standing corn winnowed to emptiness by the spendthrift winds; the fallen foliage of the trees, the weed-grown brooks, the dusky