A Sicilian Romance, Ann Radcliffe [polar express read aloud .txt] 📗
- Author: Ann Radcliffe
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The light now enabled him to take a more accurate survey of the place. He perceived that some few stones of the steps which had fallen still remained attached to the wall, but he feared to trust to their support only. He observed, however, that the wall itself was partly decayed, and consequently rugged with the corners of half-worn stones. On these small projections he contrived, with the assistance of the steps already mentioned, to suspend himself, and at length gained the unbroken part of the stairs in safety. It is difficult to determine which individual of the party rejoiced most at this escape. The morning now dawned, and Ferdinand desisted for the present from farther enquiry.
The interest which these mysterious circumstances excited in the mind of Julia, had withdrawn her attention from a subject more dangerous to its peace. The image of Vereza, notwithstanding, would frequently intrude upon her fancy; and, awakening the recollection of happy emotions, would call forth a sigh which all her efforts could not suppress. She loved to indulge the melancholy of her heart in the solitude of the woods. One evening she took her lute to a favorite spot on the seashore, and resigning herself to a pleasing sadness, touched some sweet and plaintive airs. The purple flush of evening was diffused over the heavens. The sun, involved in clouds of splendid and innumerable hues, was setting o’er the distant waters, whose clear bosom glowed with rich reflection. The beauty of the scene, the soothing murmur of the high trees, waved by the light air which overshadowed her, and the soft shelling of the waves that flowed gently in upon the shores, insensibly sunk her mind into a state of repose. She touched the chords of her lute in sweet and wild melody, and sung the following ode:
Evening
Evening veil’d in dewy shades,
Slowly sinks upon the main;
See th’empurpled glory fades,
Beneath her sober, chasten’d reign.
Around her car the pensive Hours,
In sweet illapses meet the sight,
Crown’d their brows with closing flow’rs
Rich with chrystal dews of night.
Her hands, the dusky hues arrange
O’er the fine tints of parting day;
Insensibly the colours change,
And languish into soft decay.
Wide o’er the waves her shadowy veil she draws.
As faint they die along the distant shores;
Through the still air I mark each solemn pause,
Each rising murmur which the wild wave pours.
A browner shadow spreads upon the air,
And o’er the scene a pensive grandeur throws;
The rocks—the woods a wilder beauty wear,
And the deep wave in softer music flows;
And now the distant view where vision fails,
Twilight and grey obscurity pervade;
Tint following tint each dark’ning object veils,
Till all the landscape sinks into the shade.
Oft from the airy steep of some lone hill,
While sleeps the scene beneath the purple glow:
And evening lives o’er all serene and still,
Wrapt let me view the magic world below!
And catch the dying gale that swells remote,
That steals the sweetness from the shepherd’s flute:
The distant torrent’s melancholy note
And the soft warblings of the lover’s lute.
Still through the deep’ning gloom of bow’ry shades
To Fancy’s eye fantastic forms appear;
Low whisp’ring echoes steal along the glades
And thrill the ear with wildly-pleasing fear.
Parent of shades!—of silence!—dewy airs!
Of solemn musing, and of vision wild!
To thee my soul her pensive tribute bears,
And hails thy gradual step, thy influence mild.
Having ceased to sing, her fingers wandered over the lute in melancholy symphony, and for some moments she remained lost in the sweet sensations which the music and the scenery had inspired. She was awakened from her reverie, by a sigh that stole from among the trees, and directing her eyes whence it came, beheld—Hippolitus! A thousand sweet and mingled emotions pressed upon her heart, yet she scarcely dared to trust the evidence of sight. He advanced, and throwing himself at her feet: “Suffer me,” said he, in a tremulous voice, “to disclose to you the sentiments which you have inspired, and to offer you the effusions of a heart filled only with love and admiration.” “Rise, my lord,” said Julia, moving from her seat with an air of dignity, “that attitude is neither becoming you to use, or me to suffer. The evening is closing, and Ferdinand will be impatient to see you.”
“Never will I rise, madam,” replied the count, with an impassioned air, “till”—He was interrupted by the marchioness, who at this moment entered the grove. On observing the position of the count she was retiring. “Stay, madam,” said Julia, almost sinking under her confusion. “By no means,” replied the marchioness, in a tone of irony, “my presence would only interrupt a very agreeable scene. The count, I see, is willing to pay you his earliest respects.” Saying this she disappeared, leaving Julia distressed and offended, and the count provoked at the intrusion. He attempted to renew the subject, but Julia hastily followed the steps of the marchioness, and entered the castle.
The scene she had witnessed, raised in the marchioness a tumult of dreadful emotions. Love, hatred, and jealousy, raged by turns in her heart, and defied all power of control. Subjected to their alternate violence, she experienced a misery more acute than any she had yet known. Her imagination, invigorated by opposition, heightened to her the graces of Hippolitus; her bosom glowed with more intense passion, and her brain was at length exasperated almost to madness.
In Julia this sudden and unexpected interview excited a mingled emotion of love and vexation, which did not soon subside. At length, however, the delightful consciousness of Vereza’s love bore her high above every other sensation; again the scene more brightly glowed, and again her fancy overcame the possibility of evil.
During the evening a tender and timid respect distinguished the behaviour of the count towards Julia,
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