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ing verses, in which Mirza expressed for Philamir the most violent passion.—O! unhappy and amiable Mirza! cried the prince, this, no doubt, is one of the pages of that pocket-book which you sought for with such anxiety. The wind, during the night, has blown it hither.—Alas! Is this then the secret Mirza would hide from me?—Ah, how dangerous is the discovery!
Mirza at this moment appeared—Philamir flew to meet her. O! my lord, said Mirza, I have just found my pocket-book, but there is a leaf gone.—Heavens! what do I see? that very leaf in your hands!—And you have read it?—Unfortunate Miza! Thy evils, then, are at the height.
So saying, Mirza fell on the lawn, and seemed ready to faint; the prince, quite beside himself, kneeled to assist her. O Mirza, cried he, with a broken voice, into what dreadful distress have you plunged me!—Can it be?—loved by you!
Cruel prince, replied Mirza, since you have read that writing, the silence I had imposed
