118
PAPERS ON LITERATURE AND ART.
| And though they leave us not the men we were, |
| Yet they do leave us. |
With the admirable passages that follow.
The delicate touches, with which Elena is made to depict her own character, move us more than Artevelde’s most beautiful description of Adriana.
I have been much unfortunate, my lord,
I would not love again.
Shakspeare could not mend the collocation of those words.
| When he is absent I am full of thought, |
| And fruitful in expression inwardly, |
| And fresh, and free, and cordial, is the flow |
| Of my ideal and unheard discourse, |
| Calling him in my heart endearing names, |
| Familiarly fearless. But alas! |
| No sooner is he present than my thoughts |
| Are breathless and bewitched, and stunted so |
| In force and freedom, that I ask myself |
| Whether I think at all, or feel, or live, |
| So senseless am I. |
| Would that I were merry! |
| Mirth have I valued not before; but now |
| What would I give to be the laughing front |
| Of gay imaginations ever bright, |
| And sparkling fantasies! Oh, all I have, |
| Which is not nothing, though I prize it not; |
| My understanding soul, my brooding sense, |
| My passionate fancy, and the gift of gifts |
| Dearest to woman, which deflowering Time, |
| Slow ravisher, from clenchedest fingers wrings, |
| My corporal beauty would I barter now |
| For such an antic and exulting spirit |
| As lives in lively women. |
| Your grave, and wise, |
| And melancholy men, if they have souls, |
