as him; she could not help doing justice to the merits of that charming shepherd, and she was well aware that it is necessary to avoid that which appears to us too agreeable.
Never had any one undertaken such a task as she undertook at that moment. She tore herself away from the most tender and best beloved object she had ever seen in her life! She could not resist looking back several times, to see if he followed her. She saw him fall half dead! She loved him, and denied herself the consolation of recovering him. When she reached the open plain, she lifted up her eyes pitifully, and folding her arms, exclaimed, "O Virtue! O Glory! Grandeur! I sacrifice to you my happiness! Destiny! O Trasimene! I renounce my fatal beauty!—Give me back my ugliness, or restore to me the lover I abandon, without a cause to blush at my choice!" After uttering these words, she stood, uncertain whether or not she should retrace her steps. Her heart prompted her to re-enter the wood in which she had left Sans-pair: but her virtue triumphed over her affection. She took the noble resolution never again to behold him.
Since she had been transported to this spot, she had heard talk of a celebrated Enchanter, who lived in a castle which he and his sister had built on the shore of the island. There was nothing spoken of but their science. Every day produced some new wonder. She thought nothing less than magic power could efface from her heart the image of the charming shepherd; and, without saying anything to her charitable hostess, who had received and treated her like a daughter, she set out on her road so absorbed by her sorrow, that she never reflected on the peril she ran, a young and beautiful girl travelling all alone. She rested neither day nor night, she neither eat nor drank—she was so anxious to reach the castle, and be cured of her love. But in passing through a wood, she heard some one singing. She thought she distinguished her own name, and recognised the voice of one of her companions. She stopped to listen, and caught these words:—
"Sans-pair, of all the village swains
The handsomest in form and feature,
Wore of a shepherdess the chains,
Brilliante by name as well as nature;
By every gentle art he sought
To move to pity his enslaver;
But the poor innocent knew nought
Of love, despite the hints he gave her.
