Liber Amoris, or The New Pygmalion | Page 6

Nay, your rejection of me, by the way in which you
do it, is only a new link added to my chain. Raise those downcast eyes,
bend as if an angel stooped, and kiss me. . . . Ah! enchanting little
trembler! if such is thy sweetness where thou dost not love, what must
thy love have been? I cannot think how any man, having the heart of
one, could go and leave it.
S. No one did, that I know of.
H. Yes, you told me yourself he left you (though he liked you, and
though he knew--Oh! gracious God! that you loved him) he left you
because "the pride of birth would not permit a union."--For myself, I
would leave a throne to ascend to the heaven of thy charms. I live but
for thee, here--I only wish to live again to pass all eternity with thee.
But even in another world, I suppose you would turn from me to seek
him out who scorned you here.
S. If the proud scorn us here, in that place we shall all be equal.
H. Do not look so--do not talk so--unless you would drive me mad. I
could worship you at this moment. Can I witness such perfection, and
bear to think I have lost you for ever? Oh! let me hope! You see you
can mould me as you like. You can lead me by the hand, like a little

child; and with you my way would be like a little child's:--you could
strew flowers in my path, and pour new life and hope into me. I should
then indeed hail the return of spring with joy, could I indulge the
faintest hope--would you but let me try to please you!
S. Nothing can alter my resolution, Sir.
H. Will you go and leave me so?
S. It is late, and my father will be getting impatient at my stopping so
long.
H. You know he has nothing to fear for you--it is poor I that am alone
in danger. But I wanted to ask about buying you a flageolet. Could I see
that which you have? If it is a pretty one, it would hardly be worth
while; but if it isn't, I thought of bespeaking an ivory one for you. Can't
you bring up your own to shew me?
S. Not to-night, Sir.
H. I wish you could.
S. I cannot--but I will in the morning.
H. Whatever you determine, I must submit to. Good night, and bless
thee!
[The next morning, S. brought up the tea-kettle as usual; and looking
towards the tea-tray, she said, "Oh! I see my sister has forgot the
tea-pot." It was not there, sure enough; and tripping down stairs, she
came up in a minute, with the tea-pot in one hand, and the flageolet in
the other, balanced so sweetly and gracefully. It would have been
awkward to have brought up the flageolet in the tea-tray and she could
not have well gone down again on purpose to fetch it. Something,
therefore, was to be omitted as an excuse. Exquisite witch! But do I
love her the less dearly for it? I cannot.]

THE CONFESSION

H. You say you cannot love. Is there not a prior attachment in the case?
Was there any one else that you did like?
S. Yes, there was another.
H. Ah! I thought as much. Is it long ago then?
S. It is two years, Sir.
H. And has time made no alteration? Or do you still see him
sometimes?

S. No, Sir! But he is one to whom I feel the sincerest affection, and
ever shall, though he is far distant.
H. And did he return your regard?
S. I had every reason to think so.
H. What then broke off your intimacy?
S. It was the pride of birth, Sir, that would not permit him to think of a
union.
H. Was he a young man of rank, then?
S. His connections were high.
H. And did he never attempt to persuade you to any other step?
S. No--he had too great a regard for me.
H. Tell me, my angel, how was it? Was he so very handsome? Or was
it the fineness of his manners?
S. It was more his manner: but I can't tell how it was. It was chiefly my
own fault. I was foolish to suppose he could ever think seriously of me.
But he used to make me read with him--and I used to be with him a
good deal, though not much neither--and I found my affections
entangled before I was aware of it.
H. And did your mother and family know of it?
S. No--I have never told any one but you; nor I should