Ann Radcliffe








Poems from The Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne (1789)

Poems from A Sicilian Romance (1790)

Poems from The Romance of the Forest (1791)

Poems from The Mysteries of Udolpho (1794)









Castles of Athlin and Dunbaye (London: T. Hookham, 1789): "As he was one day standing at the grate which looked upon the castle, observing the progress of these birds, his ear caught the sound of that sweet lute whose notes had once saved him from destruction; it was accompanied by the same melodious voice he had formerly heard, and which now sung with impassioned tenderness the following air:


When first the vernal morn of life,

  Beam'd on my infant eye,

Fond I survey'd the smiling scene,

  Nor saw the tempest nigh,


Hope's bright illusions touch'd my soul,

  My yound ideas led;

And Fancy's vivid tints combine'd,

  And fairy prospects spread.


My guileless heart expanded wide,

  With filial fondness fraught;

Paternal love that heart supplied

  With all its fondness sought.


But O! the cruel, quick reverse!

  Fate all I lov'd involv'd;

Pale Grief Hope's trembling rays dispers'd,

  And Fancy's dreams dissolv'd."




Castles of Athlin and Dunbaye (London: T. Hookham, 1789): "The parting sun trembled on the tops of the mountains, and a softer shade fell upon the distant landscape. The sweet tranquility of the evening threw an air of tender melancholy over his mind; his sorrows for a while were hushed; and under the enthusiasm of the hour, he composed the following sonnet, which, having committed it to paper, he the next evening dropped upon the terrace.




Hail! to the hallow'd hill, the circling lawn.

  The breezy upland, and the mountain stream!

The last tall pine that earliest meets the dawn,

  And glistens latest to the western gleam!


Hail! every distant hill, and dowland plain!

  Your dew-hid beauties Fancy oft unveils;

What time to Shepherd's reed, or Poet's strain,

  Sorrowing my heart its destin'd woe bewails.


Blest are the fairy hour, the twilight shade

  Of Ev'ning wand'ring thro her woodlands dear;

Sweet the still sound that steals along the glade;

  'Tis Fancy wafts it, and her vot'ries hear.



'Tis Fancy wafts it!--and how sweet the sound!

  I hear it now the distant hills uplong;

While fairy echoes from their dells around,

  And woods and wilds, the feeble notes prolong!"




Castles of Athlin and Dunbaye (London: T. Hookham, 1789): "In a gallery on the North side of the castle, which was filled with pictures of the family, hung a portrait of Mary. She was drawn in the dress which she wore on the day of the festival, when she was led by the Earl into the hall and presented as the partner of Alleyn. The likeness was striking, and expressive of all the winning grace of the original. As ofte as Alleyn could steal from observation, he retired to this gallery to contemplate the portrait of her who was ever present to his imagination: here he could breathe that sigh which her presence restrained, and shed those tears which her presence forbade to show. As he stood one day in this place, wrapt in melancholy musing, his ear was struck with the notes of sweet music; they seemed to issue from the bottom of the gallery. The instrument was touched with an exquisite expression, and in a voice whose tones floated on the air in soft undulations; he distinguished the following words, which he [PAGE 229] remembered to be an ode composed by the Earl, and presented to Mary, who had set it to music the day before.




Darkness! thro thy chilling glooms,

  Weakly trembles twilight grey;

Twilight fades--and Morning comes,

  And melts thy shadows swift away!


She comes in her Aetherial car,

  Involv'd in many a varying hue;

And thro' the azure shoots afar,

  Spirit--light--and life anew!


Her breath revives the drooping flowers,

  Her ray dissolves the dews of night;

Recalls the sprightly-moving hours,

  And the green scene unveils in light!


Her's the fresh gale that wanders wild

  O'er mountain top, and woodland glade;

And fondly steals the breath, beguil'd,

  Of ev'ry flow'r in ev'ry shade.



Mother of Roses!--bright Aurora!--hail!

  Thee shall the chorus of the hours salute,

And song of early birds from ev'ry vale,

  And blithsome horn, and fragrant zephyr mute!


And oft as rising o'er the plain,

  Thou and thy roseate Nymphs appear,

This simple song in choral strain,

  From rapturing Bards shall meet thine ear.




Dance ye lightly--lightly on!

  'Tis the bold lark thro' the air,

Hails your beauties with his song;

  Lightly--lightly fleeting air!"






2 VOLS. (4TH ED.; LONDON, 1809)


The Sicilian Romance 2 Vols. (4th Ed.; London, 1809) : "When the ball broke up, she retired to her apartment, but not to sleep. Joy is as retless as anxiety or sorrow. She seemed to have entered upon a new state of existence;--those fine springs of affection which had hitherto lain concealed, were now touched, and yielded to her a happiness more exalted than any her imagination ever painted. She reflected on the tranquility of her past life, and comparing it with the emotions of the present hour, exulted in the difference. All her former pleasures now appeared insipid; she wondered that they ever had power to affect her, and that she had endured with content the dull uniformity to which she had been condemned. It was now only that she appeared to live. Absorbed in the single idea of being beloved, her imagination soared into the regions of romantic bliss, and bore her high above the possibility of evil. Since she was beloved by Hippolitus, she could only be happy. From this state of entranced delight she was awakened by the sound of music immediately under her window. It was a lute touched by a masterly hand. After a wild and melancholy symphony, a voice of more than magic expression swelled into an air so pathetic and tender, that it seemed to breathe the very soul of love. The chords of the lute were struck in low and sweet accompaniment. Julie listened, and distinguished the following words:




Still is the night breeze!--not a lonely sound

  Steals through the silence of this dreary hour;

O'er these high battlements Sleep reigns profound,

  And sheds on all his sweet oblivious power.


On all but me--I vainly ask his dews

  To steep in short forgetfulness my cares:

Th' affrighted god still flies when Love pursues,

  Still--still denies the wretched lover's prayers."




The Sicilian Romance 2 Vols. (4th Ed.; London, 1809): "The interest which these mysterious circumstances excited in the mind of Julia, had withdrawn her attention from a subject more dangerous to its peace. The image of Vereza, notwithstanding, would frequently intrude upon her fancy; and awakening the recollection of happy emotions, would call forth a sigh which all her efforts could not suppress. She loved to indulge the melancholy of her heart in the solitude of the woods. One evening she took her lute to a favorite spot on the sea shore, and resigning herself to a pleasing sadness, touched some sweet and plaintive airs. The purple fluh of evening was diffused over the heavens. The sun, involved in clouds of splendid and innumerable hues, was setting o'er the distant waters, whose clear bosom glowed with rich reflection. The beauty of the scene, the soothing murmur of the high trees, waved by the light air which overshadowed her, [PAGE 87] and the soft shelling of the waves that flowed gently in upon the shores, insensibly sunk her mind into a state of repose. She touched the chords of her lute in sweet and wild melody, and sung the following ode:




EVENING veil'd in dewy shades,

  Slowly sinks upon the main;

See th' empurpled glory fades,

  Beneath her sober, chasten'd reign.


Around her ear the pensive Hours,

  In sweet illapses meet the sight,

Crown'd their brows with closing flow'rs,

  Rich with chystal dews of night.


Her hands, the dusky hues arrange

  O'er the fine tints of parting day;

Insensibly the colours change,

  And languish into soft decay.


Wide o'er the waves her shadowy veil she draws,

  As faint they die along the distant shores;

Through the still air I mark each solemn pause,

  Each rising murmur which the wild wave pours.



A browner shadow spreads upon the air,

  And o'er the scene a pensive grandeur throws;

The rocks--the woods a wilder beauty wear,

  And the deep wave in softer music flows.


And now the distant view where vision fails

  Twilight and grey obscurity pervade;

Tint following tint each dark'ning object veils,

  Till all the landscape sinks into the shade.


Oft from the airy steep of some lone hill,

  While sleeps the scene beneath the purple glow;

And evening lives o'er all serene and still,

  Wrapt let me view the magic world below!


And catch the dying gale that swells remote,

  That steals the sweetness from the shepherd's flute;

The distant torrent's melancholy note

  And the soft warblings of the lover's lute.


Still through the deep'ning gloom of bow'ry shades

  To Fancy's eye fantastic forms appear;

Low whisp'ring echoes steal along the glades

  And thrill the ear with wildly-pleasing fear.


Parent of shades!--of silence!--dewy airs!

  Of solemn musing, and of vision wild!

To thee my sould her pensive tribute bears,

  And hails thy gradual step, thy influence mild."




The Sicilian Romance 2 Vols. (4th Ed.; London, 1809): "As they proceeded with silent caution, they perceived a light break from among the rocks at some distance. The Duke hesitated whether to approach, since it might probably proceed from a party of the banditti with which these mountains were said to be infested. While he hesitated, it disappeared; but he had not advance many steps when it returned. He now perceived it to issue from the mouth of a cavern, and cast a bright reflection upon the overhanging rocks and shrubs. He dismounted, and followed by two of his people, leaving the rest at some distance, moved with slow and silent steps towards the cave. As he drew near, he heard the sound of many voices, in high carousal. Suddenly the uproar ceased, and the following words were sung by a clear and manly voice:




Pur the rich libation high;

  The sparkling cup to Bacchus fill;

His joys shall dance in ev'ry eye,

  And chase the forms of future ill!


Quick the magic raptures steal

  O'er the fancy kindling brain,

Warm the heart with social zeal,

  And song and laughter reign.


Then visions of pleasure shall float on our sight,

  While light bounding our spirits shall flow;

And the god shall impart a fine sense of delight,

  Which in vain sober mortals would know."




The Sicilian Romance 2 Vols. (4th Ed.; London, 1809) : "At the abbey, solitude and stillness conspired with the solemn aspect of the pile, to impress the mind with religious awe. The dim glass of the high arched windows, stained with the colouring of monkish fictions, and shaded by the thick trees that environed the edifice, spread around a sacred gloom, which inspired the beholder with congenial feelings. As Julie mused through the walks, and surveyed this vast monument of barbarous superstition, it brought to her recollection an ode which she often repeated with melancholy pleasure, as the composition of Hippolitus.





HIGH mid Alverna's awful steeps,

  Eternal shades, and silence dwell,

Save, when the gale resounding sweeps,

  Sad straings are faintly heard to swell:


Enthron'd amid the wild impending rocks,

  Involv'd in clouds, and brooding future woe,

The demon Superstition Nature shocks,

  And waves her Sceptre o'er the world below.


Around her throne, amid the mingling glooms,

  Wild--hideous forms are slowly seen to glide;

She bids them fly to shade earth's brightest blooms,

  And spread the blast of Desolation wide.


See! in the darkened air their fiery course!

  The sweeping ruin settles o'er the land,

Terror leads on their steps with madd'ning force,

  And Death and Vengeance close the ghastly band!


Mark the purple streams that flow!

Mark the deep empassioned woe!

Frantic Fury's dying groan!

Virtue's sigh, and Sorrow's moan!



Wide--wide the phantoms swell the loaded air

With shrieks of anguish--madness and despair!

  Cease your ruin! spectrs dire!

    Cease your wild terrific sway!

  Turn your steps--and check your ire,

    Yield to peace and mourning day!"




The Sicilian Romance 2 Vols. (4th Ed.; London, 1809) : "The tempest came on, and the captain vainly sounded for anchorage: it was deep sea, and the vessel drove furiously before the wind. The darkness was interrupted only at intervals by the broad expanse of vivid lightnings, which quivered upon the waters, and disclosing the horrible gaspings of the waves, served to render the succeeding darkness more awful. The thunder which burst in tremendous crashes above, the loud roar of the waves below, the noise of the sailors, and the sudden cracks and groanings of the vessel, conspired to heighten the tremendous sublimity of the scene.




Far on the rocky shores the surges sound,

The lashing whirlwinds cleave the vast profound;

While high in air, amid the rising storm,

Driving the blast, sits Danger's black'ning form.


Julie lay fainting with terror and sickness in the cabin, and Ferdinand, though almost hopeless himself, was endeavouring to support her, when a loud and dreadful crash was heard from above. It seemed as if the whole vessel had parted. The voices of the sailors now rose together, and all was confusion and uproar. Ferdinand ran up to the deck, and learned the part of the main mast, borne away by the wind, had fallen upon the deck, whence it had rolled overboard."






3 VOLS. (LONDON, 1791).


Note: this novel is still anonymous, though "By the authoress of 'A Sicilian Romance,' &c." Also, this is the first novel to have epigrams, and they are, like in the later romances, by Walpole, Gray, Shakespeare, etc.

The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791), 1:85-7: "She was a sensible and highly accomplished woman, and it became her chief delight to form the rising graces of Adeline, who had, as has been already shown, a sweetness of disposition, which made her quick to repay instruction with improvement, and indulgence with love. Never was Adeline so pleased as when she anticipated her wishes, and never so diligent as when she was employed in her business. The little affairs of the household she overlooded and managed with such admirable exactness, that Madame La Motte had neither anxiety, nor care, concerning them. And Adeline formed for herself in this barren situation, many amusements, that occasionally banished the remembrance of her misfortunes. La Motte's books were her chief consolation. With one of these she would frequently ramble in the forest, [PAGE 86] where the river, winding through a glade, diffused coolness, and with its murmuring accents, invited repose: there she would seat herself, and, resigned to the illusions of the page, pass many hours in oblivion of sorrow. Her too, when her mind was tranquilized by the surrounding scenery, she wooed the gentle muse, and indulged in ideal happiness. The delight of these moments she commemorated in the following address




Dear, wild illusions of creative mind!

  Whose varying hues arise to Fancy's art,

And by her magic force are swift combin'd

  In forms that please, and scenes that touch the heart:

Oh! whether at her voice ye soft assume

  The pensive grace of sorrow drooping low;

Or rise sublime on terror's lofty plume,

  And shake the soul with wildly thrilling woe;

Or, sweetly bright, your gayer tints ye spread,

  Bid scenes of pleasure steal upon my view,

Love wave his purple pinions o'er my head,

  And wake the tender thought to passion true;

O! still--ye shadowy forms! attend my lonely hours,

Still chase my real cares with your illusive powers!"




The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791), 1:188-9: "She wandered on without noticing the distance, and, following the windings of the river, came to a dewy glade, whose woods, sweeping down to the very edge of the water, formed a scene so sweetly romantic, that she seated herself at the foot of a tree, to contemplate its beauty. These images insensibly soothed her sorrow, and inspired her with that soft and pleasing melancholy, so dear to the feeling mind. For some time she sat lost in a reverie, while the flowers that grew on the banks beside her seemed to smile in new life, and drew from her a comparison with her own condition. She mused and sighed, and then, in a voice, whose charming melody was modulated by the tenderness of her heart, she sung the following words:






Soft silken flow'r! that in the dewy vale

   Unfolds thy modest beauties to the morn,

And breath'st thy fragrance on her wand'ring gale,

   O'er earth's green hills and shadowy vallies born;


When day has closed his dazzling eye,

   And dying gales sink soft away;

When Eve steals down the western sky,

   And mountains, woods, and vales decay;


Thy tender cups, that graceful swell,

   Droop sad beneath her chilly dews;

Thy odours seek their silken cell,

   And twilight veils thy languid hues.


But soon, fair flow'r! the morn shall rise,

   And rear again thy pensive head;

Again unveil thy snowy dyes,

   Again thy velvet foliage spread.


Sweet child of Spring! like thee in sorrow's shade,

   Full oft I mourn in tears, and droop forlorn:

And O! like thine, may light my gloom pervade,

   And Sorrow fly before Joy's living morn!"




The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791), 1:206-208: "At the decline of day, she quitted her chamber to enjoy the sweet evening hour, but strayed no farther than an avenue near the abbey, which fronted the west. She read a little, but, finding it impossible any longer to abstract her attention from the scene around, she closed the book, and yielded to the sweet complacent melancholy which the hour inspired. The air was still, the sun, sinking below the distant hill, spread a purple glow over the landscape, and touched the forest glades with softer light. A dewy freshness was diffused upon the air. As the sun descended, the dusk came silently on, and the scene assumed a solemn grandeur. As she mused, she recollected and repeated the following stanzas:




Now Ev'ning fades! her pensive step retires,

   And Night leads on the dews, and shadowy hours:

Her awful pomp of planetary fires,

   And all her train of visionary powers.


These paint with fleeting shapes the dream of sleep,

   These swell the waking soul with pleasing dread;

These through the glooms in forms terrific sweep,

   And rouse the thrilling horrors of the dead!


Queen of the solemn thought---mysterious Night!

   Whose step is darkness, and whose voice is fear!

Thy shades I welcome with severe delight,

   And hail thy hollow gales, that sigh so drear!


When, wrapt in clouds, and riding in the blast,

   Thou roll'st the storm along the sounding shore,

I love to watch the whelming billows, cast

   On rocks below, and listen to the roar.


Thy milder terrors, Night, I frequent woo,

   Thy silent lightnings, and thy meteor's glare,

Thy northern fires, bright with ensanguine hue,

   That light in heaven's high vault the fervid air.


But chief I love thee, when thy lucid car

   Sheds through the fleecy clouds a trembling gleam,

And shews the misty mountain from afar,

   The nearer forest, and the valley's stream:


And nameless objects in the vale below,

   That floating dimly to the musing eye,

Assume, at Fancy's touch, fantastic shew,

   And raise her sweet romantic visions high.


Then let me stand amidst thy glooms profound

   On some wild woody steep, and hear the breeze

That swells in mournful melody around,

   And faintly dies upon the distant trees.


What melancholy charm steals o'er the mind!

   What hallow'd tears the rising rapture greet!

While many a viewless spirit in the wind

   Sighs to the lonely hour in accents sweet!


Ah! who the dear illusions pleas'd would yield,

   Which Fancy wakes from silence and from shades,

For all the sober forms of Truth reveal'd,

   For all the scenes that Day's bright eye pervades!"




The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791): "Again the music sounded--'music such as charmeth sleep'--and again she gradually yielded to its sweet magic. A female voice, accompanied by a lute, a hautboy, and a few other instruments, now gradually swelled into a tone so exquisite, as raised attention into ecstacy. It sunk by degrees, and touched a few simple notes with pathetic softness, when the measure was suddenly changed, and in a gay and airy melody Adeline distinguished the following words:






Life's a varied, bright illusion,

   Joy and sorrow---light and shade;

Turn from sorrow's dark suffusion,

   Catch the pleasures ere they fade.


Fancy paints with hues unreal,

   Smile of bliss, and sorrow's mood;

If they both are but ideal,

   Why reject the seeming good?


Hence! no more! 'tis Wisdom calls ye,

   Bids ye court Time's present aid;

The future trust not---Hope enthrals ye,

   'Catch the pleasures ere they fade.'"




The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791): "And now the Marquis, who interpreted her silence into a secret compliance with his proposal, resumed all his gaiety and spirit, while the long and ardent regards he bestowed on Adeline, overcame her with confusion and indignation. In the midst of the banquet, soft music again sounded the most tender and impassioned airs; but its effect [PAGE 129] on Adeline was now lost, her mind being too much embarrassed and distressed by the presence of the Marquis, to admit even the soothings of harmony. A song was now heard, written with that sort of impotent art, by which some voluptuous poets believe they can at once conceal and recommend the principles of vice. Adeline received it with contempt and displeasure, and the Marquis, perceiving its effect, presently made a sign for another composition, which, adding the force of poetry to the charms of music, might withdraw her mind from the present scene, and enchant it in sweet delirium.




In the sightless air I dwell,

   On the sloping sun-beams play;

Delve the cavern's inmost cell,

   Where never yet did day-light stray.


Dive beneath the green-sea waves,

   And gambol in the briny deeps;

Skim every shore that Neptune laves,

   From Lapland's plains to India's steeps.


Oft I mount with rapid force

   Above the wide earth's shadowy zone;

Follow the day-star's flaming course

   Through realms of space to thought unknown;


And listen to celestial sounds,

   That swell the air, unheard of men,

As I watch my nightly rounds

   O'er woody steep, and silent glen.


Under the shade of waving trees.

   On the green bank of fountain clear,

At pensive eve I sit at ease,

   While dying music murmurs near.


And oft, on point of airy clift,

   That hangs upon the western main,

I watch the gay tints passing swift,

   And twilight veil the liquid plain.


Then, when the breeze has sunk away,

   And ocean scarce is heard to lave,

For me the sea-nymphs softly play

   Their dulcet shells beneath the wave.


Their dulcet shells! I hear them now;

   Slow swells the strain upon mine ear;

Now faintly falls---now warbles low,

   'Till rapture melts into a tear.


The ray that silvers o'er the dew,

   And trembles through the leafy shade,

And tints the scene with softer hue,

   Calls me to rove the lonely glade;


Or hie me to some ruin'd tow'r,

   Faintly shewn by moon-light gleam,

Where the lone wand'rer owns my pow'r

   In shadows dire that substance seem;


In thrilling sounds that murmur woe,

   And pausing silence makes more dread;

In music breathing from below

   Sad, solemn Strains, that wake the dead.


Unseen I move---unknown am fear'd!

   Fancy's wildest dreams I weave;

And oft by bards my voice is heard

   To die along the gales of eve."




The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791): "She awoke with the dawn, and her [PAGE 33] mind being too much disturbed to sleep again, she rose and watched the gradual approach of day. As she mused, she expressed the feelings of the moment in the following,




Morn's beaming eyes at length unclose,

And wake the blushes of the rose,

That all night long oppress'd with dews,

And veil'd in chilly shade its hues,

Reclin'd, forlorn, the languid head,

And sadly sought its parent bed;

Warmth from her ray the trembling flow'r derives,

And, sweetly blushing, through its tears revives.


"Morn's beaming eyes at length unclose,"

And melt the tears that bend the rose;

But can their charms suppress the sigh,

Or chace the tear from Sorrow's eye?

Can all their lustrous light impart

One ray of peace to sorrow's heart?

Ah! no; their fires her fainting soul oppress---

Eve's pensive shades more soothe her meek distress!"




The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791), 3:97-98: "As she listened to the mellow and enchanting tones of the horn, which gradually sunk away in distance, the scene appeared more lovely than before, and finding it impossible to forbear attempting to paint in language what was so beautiful in reality, she composed the following




How smooth that lake expands its ample breast!

   Where smiles in soften'd glow the summer sky:

How vast the rocks that o'er its surface rest!

   How wild the scenes its winding shores supply!


Now down the western steep slow sinks the sun,

   And paints with yellow gleam the tufted woods:

While here the mountain-shadows, broad and dun,

   Sweep o'er the crystal mirror of the floods.


Mark how his splendour tips with partial light

   Those shatter'd battlements! that on the brow

Of yon bold promontory burst to sight

   From o'er the woods that darkly spread below.


In the soft blush of light's reflected power,

   The ridgy rock, the woods that crown its steep,

Th' illumin'd battlement, and darker tower,

   On the smooth wave in trembling beauty sleep.


But lo! the sun recalls his fervid ray,

   And cold and dim, the wat'ry visions fail;

While o'er yon cliff, whose pointed craggs decay,

   Mild Evening draws her thin empurpled veil!


How sweet that strain of melancholy horn!

   That floats along the slowly ebbing wave;

And up the far-receding mountains borne,

   Returns a dying close from Echo's cave!


Hail! shadowy forms of still, expressive Eve!

   Your pensive graces stealing on my heart,

Bid all the fine-attun'd emotions live,

   And fancy all her loveliest dreams impart."




The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791), 3:144-6: "They sat down on a point of rock, overshadowed by lofty palm-trees, to contemplate at leisure the magnificent scene. The sun was just emerged from the sea, over which his rays shed a flood of light, and darted a thousand brilliant tints on the vapours that ascended the horizon, and floated there in light clouds, leaving the bosom of the waters below clear as chrystal, except where the white surges [PAGE 145] were seen to bear upon the rocks; and discovering the distant sails of the fishing boats, and the far distant highlands of Corsica, tinted with aetherial blue. Clara, after some time, drew forth her pencil, but threw it aside in despair. Adeline, as they returned home through a romantic glen, when her senses were no longer absorbed in the contemplation of this grand scenery, and when its images floated on her memory, only, in softened colours, repeated the following lines:




Oft let me wander, at the break of day,

   Thro' the cool vale o'erhung with waving woods,

Drink the rich fragrance of the budding May,

   And catch the murmur of the distant floods;

Or rest on the fresh bank of limpid rill,

   Where sleeps the vi'let in the dewy shade,

Where op'ning lilies balmy sweets distil,

   And the wild musk-rose weeps along the glade:


Or climb the eastern cliff, whose airy head

   Hangs rudely o'er the blue and misty main;

Watch the fine hues of morn through ¾ther spead,

   And paint with roseate glow the crystal plain.

Oh! who can speak the rapture of the soul

   When o'er the waves the sun first steals to sight,


And all the world of waters, as they roll,

   And Heaven's vast vault unveils in living light!

So life's young hour to man enchanting smiles,

With sparkling health, and joy, and fancy's fairy wiles!"




The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791): "One evening Adeline having excused herself from accompanying La Luc and Clara in a visit to a neighbouring family, she retired to the terrace of the garden, which overlooked the sea, and as she viewed the tranquil splendour of the setting sun, and his glories reflected on the polished surface of the waves, she touched the strings of the lute in softest harmony, her voice accompanying it with words which she had one day written after having read that rich effusion of Shakespeare's genius, 'A Midsummer Night's Dream.'




O! fly with me through distant air

   To isles that gem the western deep!

For laughing Summer revels there,

   And hangs her wreath on every steep.


As through the green transparent sea

   Light floating on the waves we go,

The nymphs shall gaily welcome me,

   Far in their coral caves below.


For oft upon their margin sands,

   When twilight leads the fresh'ning hours,

I come with all my jocund bands

   To charm them from their sea-green bow'rs.


And well they love our sports to view,

   And on the Ocean's breast to lave;

And oft as we the dance renew,

   They call up music from the wave.


Swift hie we to that splendid clime,

   Where gay Jamaica spreads her scene,

Lifts the blue mountain---wild---sublime!

   And smooths her vales of vivid green.


Where throned high, in pomp of shade,

   The Power of Vegetation reigns,

Expanding wide, o'er hill and glade,

   Shrubs of all growth---fruit of all stains:


She steals the sun-beam's fervid glow,

   To paint her flow'rs of mingling hue;

And o'er the grape the purple throw,

   Breaking from verdant leaves to view.


There myrtle bow'rs, and citron grove,

   O'ercanopy our airy dance;

And there the sea-breeze loves to rove,

   When trembles day's departing glance.


And when the false moon steals away,

   Or o'er the chasing morn doth rise,

Oft, fearless, we our gambols play

   By the fire-worm's radiant eyes.


And suck the honey'd reeds that swell

   In tufted plumes of silver white;

Or pierce the cocoa's milky cell,

   To sip the nectar of delight!


And when the shaking thunders roll,

   And light'nings strike athwart the gloom,

We shelter in the cedar's bole,

   And revel 'mid the rich perfume!


But chief we love beneath the palm,

   Or verdant plantain's spreading leaf,

To hear, upon the midnight calm,

   Sweet Philomela pour her grief.


To mortal sprite such dulcet sound,

   Such blissful hours, were never known!

O fly with me my airy round,

   And I will make them all thine own!


Adeline ceased to sing--when she immediately heard repeated in a low voice,


            'To mortal sprite such dulcet sound,

            'Such blissful hours, were never known!'


and turning her eyes whence it came, she saw M. Amand. She blushed and laid down the lute, which he instantly took up, and with a tremulous hand drew forth tones


            'That might create a soul under the ribs of Death.'


In a melodious voice, that trembled with sensibility, he sang the following




How-sweet is Love's first gentle sway,

   When crown'd with flow'rs he softly smiles!

   His blue eyes fraught with tearful wiles,

Where beams of tender transport play:

Hope leads him on his airy way,

   And Faith and Fancy still beguiles---

   Faith quickly tangled in her toils---

Fancy, whose magic forms so gay

   The fair Deceiver's self deceive---

'How sweet is Love's first gentle sway!'

   Ne'er would that heart he bids to grieve

From Sorrow's soft enchantments stray---

Ne'er---till the God exulting in his art,

Relentless frowns and wings th' envenom'd dart."




The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791): "She usually rose early, and walked down to the shore to enjoy, in the cool and silent hours of the morning, the cheering beauty of nature, and inhale the pure sea-breeze. Every object then smiled in fresh and lively colours. The blue ea, the brilliant sky, the distant fishing boats, with their white sails, and the voices of the fishermen borne at intervals on the air, were circumstances which re-animated her spirits, and in one of her rambles, yielding to that taste for poetry which had seldom forsaken her, she repeated the following lines:





      What print of fairy feet is here

On Neptune's smooth and yellow sands?

   What midnight revel's airy dance,

   Beneath the moon-beam's trembling glance

Has blest these shores?---What sprightly bands

      Have chac'd the waves uncheck'd by fear?

Whoe'er they were they fled from morn,

For now, all silent and forlorn,

These tide-forsaken sands appear---

Return, sweet sprites! the scene to cheer!


In vain the call!---'Till moonlight's hour

Again diffuse its softer pow'r,

Titania, nor her fairy loves,

Emerge from India's spicy groves.

   Then, when the shad'wy hour returns,

When silence reigns o'er air and earth,

   And ev'ry star in ¾ther burns,

They come to celebrate their mirth;

   In frolic ring light trip the ground,

Bid Music's voice on Silence win,

   'Till magic echoes answer round---

Thus do their festive rites begin.


O fairy forms so coy to mortal ken,

   Your mystic steps to poets only shewn;

O! lead me to the brook, or hollow'd glen,

   Retiring far, with winding woods o'ergrown!

      Where'er ye best delight to rule;

   If in some forest's lone retreat,

   Thither conduct my willing feet

      To the light brink of fountain cool,

   Where, sleeping in the midnight dew,

   Lie Spring's young buds of ev'ry hue,

      Yielding their sweet breath to the air;

   To fold their silken leaves from harm,

   And their chill heads in moonshine warm,

      Is bright Titania's tender care.


There, to the night-birds's plaintive chaunt

   Your carols sweet ye love to raise,

   With oaten reed and past'ral lays;

And guard with forceful spell her haunt,

   Who, when your antic sports are done,

Oft lulls ye in the lily's cell,

Sweet flow'r! that suits your slumbers well,

   And shields ye from the rising sun.

When not to India's steeps ye fly

   After twilight and the moon,

In honey buds ye love to lie,

   While reigns supreme Light's fervid noon;

Nor quit the cell where peace pervades.

'Till night leads on the dews and shades.


E'en now your scenes enchanted meet my sight!

   I see the earth unclose, the palace rise,

The high dome swell, and long arcades of light

   Glitter among the deep embow'ring woods,

   And glance reflecting from the trembling floods!

While to soft lutes the portals wide unfold,

   And fairy forms, of fine ¾therial dyes,

   Advance with frolic step and laughing eyes,

Their hair with pearl, their garments deck'd with gold;

Pearls that in Neptune's briny waves they sought,

And gold from India's deepest caverns brought.

Thus your light visions to my eyes unveil,

Ye sportive pleasures, sweet illusion, hail!

   But ah! at morn's first blush again ye fade!

So from youth's ardent gaze life's landscape gay,

   And forms in Fancy's summer hues array'd,

Dissolve at once in air at Truth's resplendent day!




The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791): "The sun, at length, sunk below the ocean, and twilight stole over the scene, leaving the shadowy shores yet visible, and touching with a solemn tint the waters that stretched wide around. She sketched the picture, but it was with a faint pencil.




   O'er the dim breast of Ocean's wave

      Night spreads afar her gloomy wings,

      And pensive thought, and silence brings,

   Save when the distant waters lave.

         Or when the mariner's lone voice

      Swells faintly in the passing gale,

         Or when the screaming sea-gulls poise

      O'er the tall mast and swelling sail,

         Bounding the grey gleam of the deep,

      Where fancy'd forms arouse the mind,

         Dark sweep the shores, on whose rude steep

      Sighs the sad spirit of the wind.

   Sweet is its voice upon the air

         At ev'ning's melancholy close,

         When the smooth wave in silence flows!

   Sweet, sweet the peace its stealing accents bear!

Blest be thy shades, O Night! and blest the song

Thy low winds breathe the distant shores along!"




The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791): "When she reached the summit, and looked down over the dark tops of the woods on the wide and various prospect, she was seized with a kind of still rapture impossible to be expressed, and stood unconscious of the flight of time, till the sun had left the scene, and twilight threw its solemn shade upon the mountains. The sea alone reflected the fading splendor of the West; its tranquil surface was partially disturbed by the low wind that creap in tremulous lines along the waters, when rising to the woods, it shivered their light leaves, and died away. Adeline, resigning herself to the luxury of sweet and tender emotions, repeated the following lines:






Soft o'er the mountain's purple brow

   Meek Twilight draws her shadows grey:

From tufted woods and vallies low,

   Light's magic colours steal away.

Yet still, amid the spreading gloom,

   Resplendent glow the western waves,

   That roll o'er Neptune's coral caves,

A zone of light on Ev'ning's dome.

   On this lone summit let me rest,

And view the forms to Fancy dear,

   'Till on the Ocean's darken'd breast

The stars of Ev'ning tremble clear;

Or the moon's pale orb appear,

   Throwing her line of radiance wide,

   Far o'er the lightly-curling tide,

   That seems the yellow sands to chide.

   No sounds o'er silence now prevail,

      Save of the dying wave below,

   Or sailor's song borne on the gale,

      Or oar at distance striking slow.

So sweet! so tranquil! may my ev'ning ray

Set to this world---and rise in future day!




Adeline quitted the heights, and followed a narrow path that wound to the beach below: her mind was now particularly sensible of fine impressions, and the sweet notes of the nightingale amid the stillness of the woods again awakened her enthusiasm.




      Child of the melancholy song!

      O yet that tender strain prolong!


Her lengthen'd shade when Ev'ning flings,

   From mountain-cliffs, and forests green,

And sailing slow on silent wings,

   Along the glimm'ring West is seen;

I love o'er pathless hills to stray,

   Or trace the winding vale remote,

And pause, sweet Bird! to hear thy lay,

   While moon-beams on the thin clouds float;

'Till o'er the Mountain's dewy head

Pale Midnight steals to wake the dead.


Far through the Heav'ns' aetherial blue,

   Wafted on Spring's light airs you come,

With blooms, and flow'rs, and genial dew,

   From climes where Summer joys to roam,

   O! welcome to your long lost home!


      'Child of the melancholy song!'

      Who lov'st the lonely woodland-glade

   To mourn, unseen, the boughs among,

      When Twilight spreads her pensive shade,

   Again thy dulcet voice I hail!

      O! pour again the liquid note

   That dies upon the ev'ning gale!

      For Fancy loves the kindred tone;

      Her griefs the plaintive accents own.

         She loves to hear thy music float

   At solemn midnight's stillest hour,

      And think on friends for ever lost,

      On joys by disappointment crost,

   And weep anew Love's charmful pow'r!


   Then Memory wakes the magic smile,

      Th' impassion'd voice, the melting eye,

   That won't the trusting heart beguile,

      And wakes again the hopeless sigh!

   Her skill the glowing tints revive

      Of scenes that Time had bade decay:

   She bids the soften'd Passions live---

      The Passions urge again their sway.

   Yet o'er the long-regretted scene,

      Thy song the grace of sorrow throws;

   A melancholy charm serene,

      More rare than all that mirth bestows.

Then hail, sweet Bird! and hail thy pensive tear!

To Taste, to Fancy, and to Virtue dear!"




The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791), 3:328-9: "The contrast which memory drew of the past with the present, frequently drew tears of tenderness and gratitude to their eyes, and the sweet smile which seemed struggling to dispel from the countenance of Adeline those gems of sorrow, penetrated the heart of Theodore, and brought to his recollection a little song which in other circumstances he had formerly sung to her. He took up a lute that lay on the table, and [PAGE 329] touching the dulcet chords, accompanied it with the following words:




The rose that weeps with morning dew,

   And glitters in the sunny ray,

In tears of smiles resembles you,

   When Love breaks Sorrow's cloud away.


The dews that bend the blushing flow'r,

   Enrich the scent---renew the glow;

So Love's sweet tears exalt his pow'r,

   So bliss more brightly shines by woe!




The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791): "Peter flew, and while chair and tables were placing, Clara ran for her favourite lute, the lute which had formerly afforded her such delight, and which Adeline had often touched with a malancholy expression. Clara's light hand now ran over the chords, and drew forth tones of tender sweetness, her voice acoompanying the following






Now, at Moonlight's fairy hour,

   When faintly gleams each dewy steep,

And vale and Mountain, lake and bow'r,

   In solitary grandeur sleep;


When slowly sinks the evening breeze,

   That lulls the mind in pensive care,

And Fancy loftier visions sees,

   Bid Music wake the silent air.


Bid the merry, merry tabor sound,

   And with the Fays of lawn or glade,

In tripping circlet beat the ground,

   Under the high trees' trembling shade.


"Now, at Moonlight's fairy hour,"

   Shall Music breathe her dulcet voice,

And o'er the waves, with magic pow'r,

   Call on Echo to rejoice.








The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794):  "This, too, was a favourite retreat of St. Aubert, to which he freqently withdrew from the fervour of the noon, with his wife, his daughter, and his books; or came at the sweet evening hour to welcome the silent dusk, or to listen for the music of the nightingale. Sometimes, too, he brought music of his own, and awakened every fairy echo with the tender accents of his oboe; and often have the tones of Emily's voice drawn sweetness from the waves, over which they trembled. It was in one of her excursions to this spot, that she observed the following lines written with a pencil on a part of the wainscot:




Go, pencil! faithful to thy master's sights!

Go--tell the Goddess of this fairy scene,

When next her light steps wind these wood-walks green,

When all his tears, his tender sorrows, rise:

Ah! paint her form, her soul-illumin'd eyes,

The sweet expression of her pensive face,

The light'ning smile, the animated grace--

The portrait well the lover's voice supplies;

Speaks all his heart must feel, his tongue would say:

Yet ah! not all his heart must sadly feel!

How oft the flow'ret's silken leaves conceal

The drug that steals the vital spark away!

And who that gazes on that angel smile,

Would fear its charm, or think it could beguile!"




The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794): "'Are you such an admirer of nature,' said St. Aubert, 'and so little acquainted with her appearances as not to know that for a glow-worm? But come,' added he gaily, 'step a little further, and we shall see fairies, perhaps; they are often companions. The glow-work lends his light, and they in return charm him with music, and the dance. Do you see nothing tripping yonder?' Emily laughed. 'Well, my dear sir,' said she, 'since you allow of this alliance, I may vanture to own I have anticipated you; and almost dare venture to repeat some verses I made one evening in these very woods.' 'Nay,' replied St. Aubert, 'dismiss the almost, and venture quite; let us hear what vagaries fancy has been playing in your mind. If she has given you one of her spells, you need not envy those of the fairies.' 'If it is strong enough to enchant your judgment, sir,' said Emily, 'while I disclose her images, I need not envy them. The lines go in a sort of tripping measure, which I thought might suit the subject well enough, but I fear they are too irregular.




How pleasant is the green-wood's deep-matted shade

On a midsummer's eve, when the fresh rain is o'er;

When the yellow beams slope, and sparkle thro' the glade,

And swiftly in the thin air the light swallows soar!


But sweeter, sweeter still, when the sun sinks to rest,

And twilight comes on, with the fairies so gay

Tripping through the forest-walk, where flow'rs, unprest,

Bow not their tall heads beneath their frolic play.


To music's softest sounds they dance away the hour,

'Till moon-light steals down among the trembling leaves,

And checquers all the ground, and guides them to the bow'r,

The long haunted bow'r, where the nightingale grieves.


Then no more they dance, 'till her sad song is done,

But, silent as the night, to her mourning attend;

And often as her dying notes their pity have won,

They vow all her sacred haunts from mortals to defend.


When, down among the mountains, sinks the ev'ning star,

And the changing moon forsakes this shadowy sphere,

How cheerless would they be, tho' they fairies are,

If I, with my pale light, came not near!


Yet cheerless tho' they'd be, they're ungrateful to my love!

For, often when the traveller is benighted on his way,

And I glimmer in his path, and would guide him thro' the grove,

They bind me in their magic spells to lead him far astray;


And in the mire to leave him, till the stars are all burnt out,

While, in strange-looking shapes, they frisk about the ground,

And, afar in the woods, they raise a dismal shout,

'Till I shrink into my cell again for terror of the sound!


But, see where all the tiny elves come dancing in a ring,

With the merry, merry pipe, and the labor, and the horn,

And the timbrel so clear, and the lute with dulcet string;

Then round about the oak they go 'till peeping of the morn.


Down yonder glade two lovers steal, to shun the fairy-queen,

Who frowns upon their plighted vows, and jealous is of me,

That yester-eve I lighted them, along the dewy green,

To seek the purple flow'r, whose juice from all her spells can free.


And now, to punish me, she keeps afar her jocund band,

With the merry, merry pipe, and the tabor, and the lute;

If I creep near yonder oak she will wave her fairy wand,

And to me the dance will cease, and the music all be mute.


O! had I but that purple flow'r whose leaves her charms can foil,

And knew like fays to draw the juice, and throw it on the wind,

I'd be her slave no longer, nor the traveller beguile,

And help all faithful lovers, nor fear the fairy kind!


But soon the vapour of the woods will wander afar,

And the fickle moon will fade, and the stars disappear,

Then, cheerless will they be, tho' they fairies are,

If I, with my pale light, come not near!"




The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794): "Emily, called as she had requested, at an early hour, awoke, little refreshed by sleep, for uneasy dreams had pursued her, and marred the kindest blessing of the unhappy. But, when she opened her casement, looked out upon the woods, bright with the morning sun, and inspired the pure air, her mind was soothed. The scene was filled with that cheering freshness, which seems to breathe the very spirit health, and she heard only sweet and picturesque sounds, if such an [PAGE 196] expression may be allowed--the matinbell of a distant convent, the faint murmur of the sea-waves, the song of birds, and the far-off low of cattle, which she saw coming slowly on between the trunks of the trees. Struck with the circumstances of imagery around her, she indulged the pensive tranquility which they inspired; and while she leaned on her window, waiting still St. Aubert should descend to breakfast, her ideas arranged themselves in the following lines:




How sweet to wind the forest's tangled shade,

   When early twilight, from the eastern bound,

Dawns on the sleeping landscape in the glade,

   And fades as morning spreads her blush around!


When ev'ry infant flower, that wept in night,

   Lifts its chill head soft glowing with a tear,

Expands its tender blossom to the light,

   And gives its incense to the genial air.


How fresh the breeze that wafts the rich perfume;

   And swells the melody of waking birds;

The hum of bees, beneath the verdant gloom,

   And woodman's song, and low of distant herds!


Then, doubtful gleams the mountain's hoary head,

   Seen through the parting foliage from afar;

And, farther still, the ocean's misty bed,

   With flitting sails, that partial sun-beams share.


But, vain the sylvan shade---the breath of May,

   The voice of music floating on the gale,

And forms that beam through morning's dewy veil,

   If health no longer bid the heart be gay!

O balmy hour! 'tis thine her wealth to give,

Here spread her blush, and bid the parent live!"




The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794): "The sun was now set; but, under the dark branches of the almond trees, was seen the saffron glow of the west, spreading beyond the twilight of middle air. The bat flitted silently by; and, now and then, the mourning note of the nightingale was heard. The circumstances of the hour brought to her recollection some lines, which she had once heard St. Aubert recite on this very spot, and she had now a melancholy pleasure in repeating them.




Now the bat circles on the breeze of eve,

That creeps, in shudd'ring sits, along the wave,

And trembles 'mid the woods, and through the cave

Whose lonely sighs the wanderer deceive;

For oft, when melancholy charms his mind,

He thinks the Spirit of the rock he hears,

Nor listens, but with sweetly-thrilling fears,

To the low, mystic murmurs of the wind!

Now the bat circles, and the twilight dew

Falls silent round, and, o'er the mountain-cliff,

The gleaming wave and far-discover'd skiff,

Spreads the grey veil of soft, harmonious hue.

So falls o'er Grief the dew of pity's tear

Dimming her lonely visions of despair."




The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794): "As she descended on the Italian side, the precipices became still more tremendous, and the prospects still more wild and majestic, over which the shifting lights threw all the pomp of colouring. Emily delighted to observe the snowy tops of the mountains under the passing influence of the day, blushing with morning, glowing with the brightness of noon, or just tinted with the purple evening. The haunt of man could now only be discovered by the simple hut of the shepherd and the hunter, or by the rough pine bridge thrown across the torrent, to assist the latter in his chase of the chamois over crags where, but for this bestige of man, it would have been believed only the chamois and the wolf dared to venture. As emily gazed upon one of these perilous bridges, some images came to her mind, which she afterwards combined in the following




The weary traveller, who, all night long,

Has climb'd among the Alps' tremendous steeps,

Skirting the pathless precipice, where throng

Wild forms of danger; as he onward creeps

If, chance, his anxious eye at distance sees

The mountain-shepherd's solitary home,

Peeping from forth the moon-illumin'd trees,

What sudden transports to his bosom come!

But, if between some hideous chasm yawn,

Where the cleft pine a doubtful bridge displays,

In dreadful silence, on the brink, forlorn

He stands, and views in luna's dubious rays

Far, far below, the torrent's rising surge,

And listens to the wild impetuous roar;

Still eyes the depth, still shudders on the verge,

Fears to return, nor dares to venture o'er.

Desperate, at length the tottering plank he tries,

His weak steps slide, he shrieks, he sinks---he dies!"




The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794): "When she was alone, unable to sleep, the landscapes of her native home, with Valancourt, and the circumstances of her departure, haunted her fancy; she drew pictures of social happiness amidst the grand simplicity of nature, such as she feared she had bade farewell to for ever; and then, the idea of this young Piedmontese, thus ignorantly sporting with his happiness, returned to her thoughts, and, glad to espcape awhile from the pressure of nearer interests, she indulged her fancy in composing the following lines.




Ah, merry swain, who laugh'd along the vales,

And with your gay pipe made the mountains ring,

Why leave your cot, your woods, and thymy gales,

And friends belov'd, for aught that wealth can bring?

He goes to wake o'er moon-light seas the string,

Venetian gold his untaught fancy hails!

Yet oft of home his simple carols sing,

And his steps pause, as the last Alp he scales.

Once more he turns to view his native scene---

Far, far below, as roll the clouds away,

He spies his cabin 'mid the pine-tops green,

The well-known woods, clear brook, and pastures gay;

And thinks of friends and parents left behind,

Of sylvan revels, dance, and festive song;

And hears the faint reed swelling in the wind;

And his sad sighs the distant notes prolong!

Thus went the swain, till mountain shadows fell,

And dimm'd the landscape to his aching sight;

And must he leave the vales he loves so well?

Can foreign wealth, and shows, his heart delight?

No, happy vales! your wild rocks still shall hear

His pipe, light sounding on the morning breeze;

Still shall he lead the flocks to streamlet clear,

And watch at eve beneath the western trees.

Away, Venetian gold---your charm is o'er!

And now his swift step seeks the lowland bow'rs,

Where, through the leaves, his cottage light once more

Guides him to happy friends, and jocund hours.

Ah, merry swain! that laughs along the vales,

And with your gay pipe make the mountains ring,

Your cot, your woods, your thymy-scented gales---

And friends belov'd---more joy than wealth can bring!"




The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794): "She looked round, with anxious enquiry; the deep twilight, that had fallen over the scene, admitted only imperfect images to the eye, but, at some distance on the sea, she tought she perceived a gondola: a chorus of voices and instruments now swelled on the air--so sweet, so solemn! It seemed like the hymn of angels descending through the silence of night! Now it died away, and fancy almost beheld the holy choir reascending towards heaven; then again it swelled with the breeze, trembled awhile, and again died into silence. It brought to Emily's recollection some lines of her late father, and she repeated in a low voice,


                 --Oft I hear,

Upon the silence of the midnight air,

Celestial voices swell in holy chorus

That bears the soul to heaven!"




The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794): "After supper, her aunt sat late, but Montoni did not return, and she at length retired to rest. If Emily had admired the magnificence of the saloon, she was not less surprised, on observing the half-furnished and forlorn appearance of the apartments she passed in the way to her chamber, whither she went through long suites of noble rooms, that seemed, from their dreary aspect, to have been unoccupied for many years. On the walls of some were the faded remains of tapestry; from others, painted in fresco, the damps had almost withdrawn both colours and design. At length she reached her own chamber, spacious, desolate, and lofty, like the rest, with high lattices and opened towards the Adriatic. It brought gloomy images to her mind, but the view of the Adriatic soon gave her others more airy, among which was that of the sea-nymph, whose delights she had before amused herself with picturing; and, anxious to escape from serious reflections, she now endeavoured to throw her fanciful ideas into a train, and concluded the hour with composing the following lines:




Down, down a thousand fathom deep,

Among the sounding seas I go;

Play round the foot of every steep

Whose cliffs above the ocean grow.


There, within their secret caves,

I hear the mighty rivers roar;

And guide their streams through Neptune's waves

To bless the green earth's inmost shore:


And bid the freshen'd waters glide,

For fern-crown'd nymphs of lake, or brook,

Through winding woods and pastures wide,

And many a wild, romantic nook.


For this the nymphs, at fall of eve,

Oft dance upon the flow'ry banks,

And sing my name, and garlands weave

To bear beneath the wave their thanks.


In coral bow'rs I love to lie,

And hear the surges roll above,

And, through the waters, view on high

The proud ships sail, and gay clouds move.


And oft at midnight's stillest hour,

When summer seas the vessel lave,

I love to prove my charmful pow'r

While floating on the moon-light wave.


And when deep sleep the crew has bound,

And the sad lover musing leans

O'er the ship's side, I breathe around

Such strains as speak no mortal means!


O'er the dim waves his searching eye

Sees but the vessel's lengthen'd shade;

Above---the moon and azure sky;

Entranc'd he hears, and half afraid!


Sometimes a single note I swell,

That, softly sweet, at distance dies;

Then wake the magic of my shell,

And choral voices round me rise!


The trembling youth, charm'd by my strain,

Calls up the crew, who, silent, bend

O'er the high deck, but list in vain;

My song is hush'd, my wonders end!


Within the mountain's woody bay,

Where the tall bark at anchor rides,

At twilight hour, with tritons gay,

I dance upon the lapsing tides.


And with my sister-nymphs I sport,

'Till the broad sun looks o'er the floods;

Then, swift we seek our crystal court,

Deep in the wave, 'mid Neptune's woods.


In cool arcades and glassy halls

We pass the sultry hours of noon,

Beyond wherever sun-beam falls,

Weaving sea-flowers in gay festoon.


The while we chant our ditties sweet

To some soft shell that warbles near;

Join'd by the murmuring currents, fleet,

That glide along our halls so clear.


There, the pale pearl and sapphire blue,

And ruby red, and em'rald green,

Dart from the domes a changing hue,

And sparry columns deck the scene.


When the dark storm scowls o'er the deep,

And long, long peals of thunder sound,

On some high cliff my watch I keep

O'er all the restless seas around:


'Till on the ridgy wave, afar,

Comes the lone vessel, labouring slow,

Spreading the white foam in the air,

With sail and topmast bending low.


Then, plunge I 'mid the ocean's roar,

My way by quiv'ring lightnings shewn,

To guide the bark to peaceful shore,

And hush the sailor's fearful groan.


And if too late I reach its side

To save it from the 'whelming surge,

I call my dolphins o'er the tide,

To bear the crew where isles emerge.


Their mournful spirits soon I cheer,

While round the desert coast I go,

With warbled songs they faintly hear,

Oft as the stormy gust sinks low.


My music leads to lofty groves,

That wild upon the sea-bank wave;

Where sweet fruits bloom, and fresh spring roves,

And closing boughs the tempest brave.


The spirits of the air obey

My potent voice they love so well;

And, on the clouds, paint visions gay,

While strains more sweet at distance swell.


And thus the lonely hours I cheat,

Soothing the ship-wreck'd sailor's heart,

'Till from the waves the storms retreat,

And o'er the east the day-beams dart.


Neptune for this oft binds me fast

To rocks below, with coral chain,

'Till all the tempest's over-past,

And drowning seamen cry in vain.


Whoe'er ye are that love my lay,

Come, when red sun-set tints the wave,

To the still sands, where fairies play;

There, in cool seas, I love to lave."




The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794): "With such powers of expression the Count sung the following:




Soft as yon silver ray, that sleeps

Upon the ocean's trembling tide;

Soft as the air, that lightly sweeps

Yon sail, that swells in stately pride:


Soft as the surge's stealing note,

That dies along the distant shores,

Or warbled strain, that sinks remote---

So soft the sigh my bosom pours!


True as the wave to Cynthia's ray,

True as the vessel to the breeze,

True as the soul to music's sway,

Or music to Venetian seas:


Soft as yon silver beams, that sleep

Upon the ocean's trembling breast:

So soft, so true, fond Love shall weep,

So soft, so true, with thee shall rest."




The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794): "As her imagination painted with melancholy touches, the deserted plains of Troy, such as they appeared in this after-day, she reanimated the landscape with the following little story.





O'er Ilion's plains, where once the warrior bled,

And once the poet rais'd his deathless strain,

O'er Ilion's plains a weary driver led

His stately camels: For the ruin'd fane


Wide round the lonely scene his glance he threw,

For now the red cloud faded in the west,

And twilight o'er the silent landscape drew

Her deep'ning veil; eastward his course he prest:


There, on the grey horizon's glimm'ring bound,

Rose the proud columns of deserted Troy,

And wand'ring shepherds now a shelter found

Within those walls, that rang with princes joy!


Beneath a lofty porch the driver pass'd,

Then, from his camels heav'd the heavy load;

Partook with them the simple, cool, repast,

And, in short vesper, gave himself to God.


From distant lands with merchandise he came,

His all of wealth his patient servants bore;

Oft deep-drawn sighs his anxious wish proclaim

To reach, again, his happy cottage door;


For there, his wife, his little children, dwell;

Their smiles shall pay the toil of many an hour.

Ev'n now warm tears to expectation swell,

As fancy o'er his mind extends her pow'r.


A death-like stillness reign'd, where once the song,

The song of heroes, wak'd the midnight air,

Save, when a solemn murmur roll'd along,

That seem'd to say---"For future worlds prepare."


For Time's imperious voice was frequent heard

Shaking the marble temple to its fall,

(By hands he long had conquer'd, vainly rear'd)

And distant ruins answer'd to his call.


While Hamet slept, his camels round him lay,

Beneath him, all his store of wealth was pil'd;

And here, his cruise and empty wallet lay,

And there, the flute that cheer'd him in the wild.


The robber Tartar on his slumber stole,

For o'er the waste, at eve, he watch'd his train;

Ah! who his thirst of plunder shall control?

Who calls on him for mercy---calls in vain!


A poison'd poignard in his belt he wore,

A crescent sword depended at his side,

The deathful quiver at his back he bore,

And infants---at his very look had died!


The moon's cold beam athwart the temple fell,

And to his sleeping prey the Tartar led;

But soft!---a startled camel shook his bell,

Then stretch'd his limbs, and rear'd his drowsy head.


Hamet awoke! the poignard glitter'd high!

Swift from his couch he sprung, and 'scap'd the blow;

When from an unknown hand the arrows fly,

That lay the ruffian, in his vengeance, low.


He groan'd, he died! from forth a column'd gate

A fearful shepherd, pale and silent, crept,

Who, as he watch'd his folded flock star-late,

Had mark'd the robber steal where Hamet slept.


He fear'd his own, and sav'd a stranger's life!

Poor Hamet clasp'd him to his grateful heart;

Then, rous'd his camels for the dusty strife,

And, with the shepherd, hasten'd to depart.


And now, Aurora breathes her fresh'ning gale,

And faintly trembles on the eastern cloud;

And now, the sun, from under twilight's veil,

Looks gaily forth, and melts her airy shroud.


Wide o'er the level plains, his slanting beams

Dart their long lines on Ilion's tower'd scite;

The distant Hellespont with morning gleams,

And old Scamander winds his waves in light.


All merry sound the camel bells, so gay,

And merry beats fond Hamet's heart, for he,

E'er the dim ev'ning steals upon the day,

His children, wife and happy home shall see."








Slow o'er the Apennine, with bleeding feet,

A patient Pilgrim wound his lonely way,

To deck the Lady of Loretto's seat

With all the little wealth his zeal could pay.

From mountain-tops cold died the ev'ning ray,

And, stretch'd in twilight, slept the vale below;

And now the last, last purple streaks of day

Along the melancholy West fade slow.

High o'er his head, the restless pines complain,

As on their summit rolls the breeze of night;

Beneath, the hoarse stream chides the rocks in vain:

The Pilgrim pauses on the dizzy height.

Then to the vale his cautious step he prest,

For there a hermit's cross was dimly seen,

Cresting the rock, and there his limbs might rest,

Cheer'd in the good man's cave, by faggot's sheen,

On leafy beds, nor guile his sleep molest.

Unhappy Luke! he trusts a treacherous clue!

Behind the cliff the lurking robber stood;

No friendly moon his giant shadow threw

Athwart the road, to save the Pilgrim's blood;

On as he went a vesper-hymn he sang,

The hymn, that nightly sooth'd him to repose.

Fierce on his harmless prey the ruffian sprang!

The Pilgrim bleeds to death, his eye-lids close,

Yet his meek spirit knew no vengeful care,

But, dying, for his murd'rer breath'd---a sainted pray'r!"




The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794): "Emily, listening with surprise and attention, distinguished the following invocation delivered in the pure and elegant tongue of Tuscany and accompanied by a few pastoral instruments.




O nymph! who loves to float on the green wave,

When Neptune sleeps beneath the moon-light hour,

Lull'd by thy music's melancholy pow'r,

O nymph, arise from out thy pearly cave!


For Hesper beams amid the twilight shade,

And soon shall Cynthia tremble o'er the tide,

Gleam on these cliffs, that bound the ocean's pride,

And lonely silence all the air pervade.


Then, let thy tender voice at distance swell,

And steal along this solitary shore,

Sink on the breeze, till dying---heard no more---

Thou wak'st the sudden magic of thy shell.


While the long coast in echo sweet replies,

Thy soothing strains the pensive heart beguile,

And bid the visions of the future smile,

O nymph! from out thy pearly cave---arise!






The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794): "He endeavoured to amuse her by shewing the environs of the town, and they often walked together on the sea-shore, and on the busy quays, where Emily was frequently interested by the arrival and departure of vessels, participating in the joy of meeting friends, and, sometimes, shedding a sympathetic tear to the sorrow of those, that were separating. It was after having witnessed a scene of the latter kind, that she arranged the following stanzas:




Soft came the breath of spring; smooth flow'd the tide;

And blue the heaven in its mirror smil'd;

The white sail trembled, swell'd, expanded wide,

The busy sailors at the anchor toil'd.


With anxious friends, that shed the parting tear,

The deck is throng'd---how swift the moments fly;

The vessel heaves, the farewel signs appear;

Mute is each tongue, and eloquent each eye!


The last dread moment comes!---The sailor-youth

Hides the big drop, and smiles amid his pain,

Sooths his sad bride, and vows eternal truth,

"Farewell, my love---we shall---shall meet again!"


Long on the stern, with waving hand, he stood;

The crowded shore sinks, lessening, from his view,

As gradual glides the bark along the flood;

His bride is seen no more---"Adieu!---adieu!"


The breeze of Eve moans low, her smile is o'er,

Dim steals her twilight down the crimson'd west,

He climbs the top-most mast, to seek once more

The far-seen coast, where all his wishes rest.


He views its dark line on the distant sky,

And Fancy leads him to his little home,

He sees his weeping love, he hears her sigh,

He sooths her griefs, and tells of joys to come.


Eve yields to night, the breeze to wintry gales,

In one vast shade the seas and shores repose;

He turns his aching eyes,---his spirit fails,

The chill tear falls;---sad to the deck he goes!


The storm of midnight swells, the sails are furl'd,

Deep sounds the lead, but finds no friendly shore;

Fast o'er the waves the wretched bark is hurl'd,

"O Ellen, Ellen! we must meet no more!"


Lightnings, that shew the vast and foamy deep,

The rending thunders, as they onward roll,

The loud, loud winds, that o'er the billows sweep---

Shake the firm nerve, appal the bravest soul!


Ah! what avails the seamen's toiling care!

The straining cordage bursts, the mast is riv'n;

The sounds of terror groan along the air,

Then sink afar;---the bark on rocks is driv'n;


Fierce o'er the wreck the whelming waters pass'd,

The helpless crew sunk in the roaring main!

Henry's faint accents trembled in the blast---

Farewell my love!---we ne'er shall meet again!"


Oft, at the calm and silent ev'ning hour,

When summer-breezes linger on the wave,

A melancholy voice is heard to pour

Its lonely sweetness o'er poor Henry's grave!


And oft, at midnight, airy strains are heard

Around the grove, where Ellen's form is laid;

Nor is the dirge by village-maidens fear'd,

For lovers' spirits guard the holy shade!"




The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794): "The hum of the bees alone broke the stillness around her, as, with other insects of various hues, they sported gaily in the shade, or sipped sweets from the fresh flowers; and, while Blanche watched a butter-fly, flitting from bud to bud, she indulged herself in imagining the pleasures of its short day, till she had composed the following stanzas.




What bow'ry dell, with fragrant breath,

Courts thee to stay thy airy flight;

Nor seek again the purple heath,

So oft the scene of gay delight?


Long watch'd I in the lily's bell,

Whose whiteness stole the morning's beam;

No fluttering sounds thy coming tell,

No waving wings, at distance, gleam.


But fountain fresh, nor breathing grove,

Nor sunny mead, nor blossom'd tree,

So sweet as lily's cell shall prove,---

The bower of constant love and me.


When April buds begin to blow,

The primrose, and the hare-bell blue,

That on the verdant moss bank grow,

With violet cups, that weep in dew;


When wanton gales breathe through the shade,

And shake the blooms, and steal their sweets,

And swell the song of ev'ry glade,

I range the forest's green retreats:


There, through the tangled wood-walks play,

Where no rude urchin paces near,

Where scarcely peeps the sultry day,

And light dews freshen all the air.


High on a sun-beam oft I sport

O'er bower and fountain, vale and hill;

Oft ev'ry blushing flow'ret court,

That hangs its head o'er winding rill.


But these I'll leave to be thy guide,

And shew thee, where the jasmine spreads

Her snowy leaf, where may-flow'rs hide,

And rose-buds rear their peeping heads.


With me the mountain's summit scale,

And taste the wild-thyme's honied bloom,

Whose fragrance, floating on the gale,

Oft leads me to the cedar's gloom.


Yet, yet, no sound comes in the breeze!

What shade thus dares to tempt thy stay?

Once, me alone thou wish'd to please,

And with me only thou wouldst stray.


But, while thy long delay I mourn,

And chide the sweet shades for their guile,

Thou may'st be true, and they forlorn,

And fairy favours court thy smile.


The tiny queen of fairy-land,

Who knows thy speed, hath sent thee far,

To bring, or ere the night-watch stand,

Rich essence for her shadowy car:


Perchance her acorn-cups to fill

With nectar from the Indian rose,

Or gather, near some haunted rill,

May-dews, that lull to sleep Love's woes:


Or o'er the mountains, bade thee fly,

To tell her fairy love to speed,

When ev'ning steals upon the sky,

To dance along the twilight mead.


But now I see thee sailing low,

Gay as the brightest flow'rs of spring,

Thy coat of blue and jet I know,

And well thy gold and purple wing.


Borne on the gale, thou com'st to me;

O! welcome, welcome to my home!

In lily's cell we'll live in glee,

Together o'er the mountains roam!"




The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794): "One evening, she lingered here to a late hour. She had sat on the steps of the building, watching, in tranquil melancholy, the gradual effect of evening over the extensive prospect, till the gray waters of the Mediterranean and the massy woods were almost the only features visible; when, as she gazed alternately on these, and on the mild blue of the heavens, where the first pale star of evening appeared, she personfied the hour in the following lines:--




Last of the Hours, that track the fading Day,

I move along the realms of twilight air,

And hear, remote, the choral song decay

Of sister-nymphs, who dance around my car.


Then, as I follow through the azure void,

His partial splendour from my straining eye

Sinks in the depths of space; my only guide

His faint ray dawning on the farthest sky;


Save that sweet ling'ring strain of gayer Hours!

Whose close my voice prolongs in dying notes,

While mortals on the green earth own its pow'rs,

As downward on the ev'ning gale it floats.


When fades along the west the Sun's last beam

As, weary, to the nether world he goes,

And mountain-summits catch the purple gleam,

And slumb'ring ocean faint and fainter glows;


Silent upon the globe's broad shade I steal,

And o'er its dry turf shed the cooling dews,

And ev'ry fever'd herb and flow'ret heal,

And all their fragrance on the air diffuse.


Where'er I move, a tranquil pleasure reigns;

O'er all the scene the dusky tints I send,

That forests wild and mountains, stretching plains

And peopled towns, in soft confusion blend.


Wide o'er the world I waft the fresh'ning wind,

Low breathing through the woods and twilight vale,

In whispers soft, that woo the pensive mind

Of him who loves my lonely steps to hail.


His tender oaten reed I watch to hear,

Stealing its sweetness o'er some plaining rill,

Or soothing ocean's wave, when storms are near,

Or swelling in the breeze from distant hill!


I wake the fairy elves, who shun the light:

When, from their blossom'd beds, they slily peep,

And spy my pale star, leading on the night,---

Forth to their games and revelry they leap;


Send all the prison'd sweets abroad in air,

That with them slumber'd in the flow'ret's cell;

Then to the shores and moon-light brooks repair,

'Till the high larks their matin carol swell.


The wood-nymphs hail my airs and temper'd shade,

With ditties soft and lightly sportive dance,

On river margin of some bow'ry glade,

And strew their fresh buds as my steps advance.---


But swift I pass, and distant regions trace,

For moon-beams silver all the eastern cloud,

And Day's last crimson vestige fades apace;

Down the steep west I fly from Midnight's shroud."




The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794): "At length, recognizing the hand-writing of Valancourt, she read, with tremling anxiety, the following lines, entitled




'Tis solemn midnight! On this lonely steep,

Beneath this watch-tow'r's desolated wall,

Where mystic shapes the wanderer appal,

I rest; and view below the desert deep.

As through tempestuous clouds the moon's cold light

Gleams on the wave. Viewless, the winds of night

With loud mysterious force the billows sweep,

And sullen roar the surges far below.

In the still pauses of the gust I hear

The voice of spirits, rising sweet and slow,

And oft among the clouds their forms appear.

But hark! what shriek of death comes in the gale

And in the distant ray what glimmering sail

Bends to the storm?---Now sinks the note of fear!

Ah! wretched mariners! no more shall day

Unclose his cheering eye to light you on your way!"




The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794): "This, too, was his favourite season of the year, at which they had often together admired the rich and variegated tints of these woods and the magical effect of autumnal lights upon the mountains; and now, the view of these circumstances made memory eloquent. As she wandered pensively on, she fancied the following address




Sweet Autumn! how the melancholy grace

Steals on my heart, as through these shades I wind!

Sooth'd by thy breathing sigh, I fondly trace

Each lonely image of the pensive mind!

Lov'd scenes, lov'd friends---long lost! around me rise,

And wake the melting thought, the tender tear!

That tear, that thought, which more than mirth I prize---

Sweet as the gradual tint that paints thy year!

Thy farewell smile, with fond regret, I view,

Thy beaming lights, soft gliding o'er the woods;

Thy distant landscape, touch'd with yellow hue,

While falls the lengthen'd gleam; thy winding floods,

Now veil'd in shade, save where the skiff's white sails

Swell to the breeze, and catch thy streaming ray.

But now, e'en now!---the partial vision fails,

And the wave smiles, as sweeps the cloud away!

Emblem of life!---Thus checquer'd is its plan,

Thus joy succeeds to grief---thus smiles the varied man!"




The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794): "The bats alone, of all the animals inhabiting this region, seemed awake; and, while they flitted across the silent path, which Blanche was pursuing, she remembered the following lines, which Emily had given her:




From haunt of man, from day's obtrusive glare,

Thou shroud'st thee in the ruin's ivy'd tow'r,

Or in some shadowy glen's romantic bow'r,

Where wizard forms their mystic charms prepare,

Where Horror lurks, and ever-boding Care!

But, at the sweet and silent ev'ning hour,

When clos'd in sleep is ev'ry languid flow'r,

Thou lov'st to sport upon the twilight air,

Mocking the eye, that would thy course pursue,

In many a wanton round, elastic, gay,

Thou flitt'st athwart the pensive wand'rer's way,

As his lone footsteps print the mountain-dew.

From Indian isles thou com'st, with Summer's car,

Twilight thy love---thy guide her beaming star!"




The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794): "The wind was high, and as she drew near the chateau, she often paused to listen to its awful sound, as it swept over the billows, that beat below, or groaned along the surrounding woods; and, while she rested on a cliff at a short distance from the chateau, and looked upon the wide waters, seen dimly beneath the last shade of twilight, she thought of the following address




Viewless, through heavn's vast vault, your course ye steer,

Unknown from whence ye come, or whither go!

Mysterious pow'rs! I hear ye murmur low,

'Till swells your loud gust on my startled ear,

And, awful! seems to say---some God is near!

I love to list' your midnight voices float

In the dread storm that o'er the ocean rolls,

And, while their charm the angry wave controuls,

Mix with its sullen roar, and sink remote:

Then, rising in the pause, a sweeter note,---

The dirge of spirits, who your deeds bewail,---

A sweeter note, oft swells, while sleeps the gale!

But soon, ye sightless pow'rs! your rest is o'er:

Solemn and slow ye rise upon the air,

Speak in the shrouds, and bid the sea-boy fear;

And the faint-warbled dirge---is heard no more!


Oh! then I deprecate your awful reign!---

The loud lament yet bear not on your breath!

Bear not the crash of bark far on the main;

Bear not the cry of men, who cry in vain,---

The crew's dread chorus sinking into death!

Oh! give not these, ye pow'rs---I ask alone,

As, 'rapt, I climb these dark romantic steeps---

The elemental war, the billow's moan:

I ask the still, sweet tear, that list'ning Fancy weeps."




The Mysteries of Udolpho, 4 vols. (London: G. G. and J. Robinson, 1794): "The sun was now setting on that tract of the PyrenŽes, which divides Languedoc from Rousillon, and, placing herself opposite to a small grated window, which, like the wood-tops beneath, and the waves lower still, gleamed with the red glow of the west, she touched the chords of her lute in solemn symphony, and then accompanied it with airs, to which, in happier days, Valancourt had often listed in rapture, and which she now adapted to the following lines.






Spirit of love and sorrow---hail!

Thy solemn voice from far I hear,

Mingling with ev'ning's dying gale:

Hail, with this sadly-pleasing tear!


O! at this still, this lonely hour,

Thine own sweet hour of closing day,

Awake thy lute, whose charmful pow'r

Shall call up Fancy to obey.


To paint the wild romantic dream,

That meets the poet's musing eye,

As on the bank of shadowy stream,

He breathes to her the fervid sigh.


O lonely spirit! let thy song

Lead me through all thy sacred haunt;

The minster's moon-light aisles along,

Where spectres raise the midnight chaunt.


I hear their dirges faintly swell!

Then, sink at once in silence drear;

While, from the pillar'd cloister's cell,

Dimly their gliding forms appear!


Lead where the pine-woods wave on high,

Whose pathless sod is darkly seen,

As the cold moon, with trembling eye,

Darts her long beams the leaves between.


Lead to the mountain's dusky head,

Where, far below, in shade profound,

Wide forests, plains, and hamlets, spread,

And sad the chimes of vesper sound.


Or guide me where the dashing oar

Just breaks the stillness of the vale;

As slow it tracks the winding shore,

To meet the ocean's distant sail:


To pebbly banks, that Neptune laves,

With measur'd surges, loud and deep;

Where the dark cliff bends o'er the waves,

And wild the winds of autumn sweep:


There pause at midnight's spectred hour,

And list the long-resounding gale:

And catch the fleeting moon-light's pow'r,

O'er foaming seas and distant sail."





*Ann Radcliffe's poems were collected into an edition in 1816, under the title The Poems of Mrs. Ann Radcliffe (London: Printed by and for J. Smith, 1816), 118 pp..This edition seeks to collect together all of the poems featured in her novels; the grouping, therefore, covers the 1816 edition and adds to it a few poems not featured in that edition. As Radcliffe's poetical work in her heyday always worked within her novels, this collection also seeks to put each poem back into its fictional context.






































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