it with the oil of hope, or whether it will conſume the marrow of my bones. Towards every virgin that celebrates the feaſt of Flora in the ſprightly choral dance, my heart is inſenſible and cold. The divine maid, to whom I have devoted my enraptured heart, does not move in that circle of chearful dancers: yet I have diſcovered her in your palace; but perhaps ſhe is only a creature of the glowing imagination of the painter. Yet cannot believe that the artiſt could have invented ſuch a portrait: no, the maſter hand of nature muſt needs have traced the original traits of ſo glorious a copy.’
The princeſs was impatient to learn what picture had made ſo ſtrange an impreſſion on the young adventurer. ‘Follow me,’ ſaid ſhe, ‘this inſtant into the palace: let me know whether the caprice of Cupid is making ſport with your heart, by offering you a cloud inſtead of a Goddeſs, for his malice is unbounded; or whether, contrary to his cuſtom,‘he
