thee, Zanoni; or why did I hear thee without anger? why did thy command seem to me not a thing impossible! As the strings of the instrument obey the hand of the master, thy look modulates the wildest chords of my heart to thy will. If it please thee — yes — let it be so. Thou art lord of my destinies; they cannot rebel against thee! I almost think I could love him, whoever it be, on whom thou wouldst shed the rays that circumfuse thyself. Whatever thou hast touched, I love; whatever thou speakest of, I love. Thy hand played with these vine-leaves; I wear them in my bosom. Thou seemest to me the source of all love; too high and too bright to be loved thyself, but darting light into other objects, on which the eye can gaze less dazzled. No, no; it is not love that I feel for thee, and therefore it is that I do not blush to nourish and confess it. Shame on me if I loved, knowing myself so worthless a thing to thee! •••••• "Another! — my memory echoes back that word. Another! Dost thou mean that I shall see thee no more? It is not sadness — it is not despair that seizes me. I cannot weep. It is an utter sense of desolation. I am plunged back into the common life; and I shudder coldly at the solitude. But I will obey thee, if thou wilt. Shall I not see thee again beyond the grave? how sweet it were to die!
"Why do I not struggle from the web in which my will is thus entangled? Hast thou a right to dispose of me thus? Give me back — give me back — the life
