"Fool! Fool!" repeated he, while his eyes still Relented not, nor moved; "from every ill Of life have I preserved thee to this day, As were his limbs of life, from that same night. *"Philostratus, in his fourth book de Vita Apollonii, hath a memorable instance in this kind, which I may not omit, of one Menippus Lycius, a young man twenty-five years of age, that, going betwixt Cenchreas and Corinth, met such a phantasm in the habit of a fair gentlewoman, which, taking him by the hand, carried him home to her house, in the suburbs of Corinth, and told him she was a Phoenician by birth, and if he would tarry with her, he should hear her sing and play, and drink such wine as never any drank, and no man should molest him; but she, being fair and lovely, would die with him, that was fair and lovely to behold. The young man, a philosopher, otherwise staid and discreet, able to moderate his passions, though not this of love, tarried with her a while to his great content, and at last married her, to whose wedding, amongst other guests, came Apollonius; who, by some probable conjectures, found her out to be a serpent, a lamia; and that all her furniture was, like Tantalus' gold, described by Homer, no substance but mere illusions. When she saw herself descried, she wept, and desired Apollonius to be silent, but he would not be moved, and thereupon she, plate, house, and all that was in it, vanished in an instant: many thousands took notice of this fact, for it was done in the midst of Greece."-BURTON'S Anatomy of Melancholy, Part 3, Sect. 2, Memb. I. Subs. I. Б? ISABELLA, OR THE POT OF BASIL; A STORY, FROM BOCCACCIO. I. FAIR Isabel, poor simple Isabel ! Lorenzo, a young palmer in Love's eye! ii. With every morn their love grew tenderer, To her, than noise of trees or hidden rill; III. He knew whose gentle hand was at the latch, IV. A whole long month of May in this sad plight Made their cheeks paler by the break of June: "To-morrow will I bow to my delight, To-morrow will I ask my lady's boon."— "O may I never see another night, Lorenzo, if thy lips breathe not love's tune."— So spake they to their pillows; but, alas, Honeyless days and days did he let pass; Y. Until sweet Isabella's untouch'd cheek Fell sick within the rose's just domain, And yet I will, and tell my love all plain : VI. So said he one fair morning, and all day For power to speak; but still the ruddy tide VII. So once more he had waked and anguished To every symbol on his forehead high; And straight all flush'd; so, lisped tenderly, "Lorenzo!"-here she ceased her timid quest, But in her tone and look he read the rest. "O Isabella! I can half perceive That I may speak my grief into thine ear; If thou didst ever anything believe, Believe how I love thee, believe how near My soul is to its doom: I would not grieve Thy hand by unwelcome pressing, would not fear Thine eyes by gazing; but I cannot live Another night, and not my passion shrive. IX. "Love! thou art leading me from wintry cold, And poesied with hers in dewy rhyme: Χ. Parting they seem'd to tread upon the air, Sang, of delicious love and honey'd dart; All close they met again, before the dusk Had taken from the stars its pleasant veil, All close they met, all eves, before the dusk Had taken from the stars its pleasant veil, Close in a bower of hyacinth and musk, Unknown of any, free from whispering tale. Ah! better had it been for ever so, Than idle ears should pleasure in their woe. XII. Were they unhappy then?-It cannot be- Too much of pity after they are dead, Whose matter in bright gold were best be read; Except in such a page where Theseus' spouse Over the pathless waves towards him bows. XIII. But, for the general award of love, The little sweet doth kill much bitterness; Was not embalm'd, this truth is not the lessEven bees, the little almsmen of spring-bowers, Know there is richest juice in poison-flowers. XIV. With her two brothers this fair lady dwelt, In blood from stinging whip; with hollow eyes Many all day in dazzling river stood, To take the rich-ored driftings of the flood. XV. For them the Ceylon diver held his breath, A thousand men in troubles wide and dark: |