Chapter 6

All this Hippolito saw and heard to his inexpressible Content, yet had he much to do to smother his Joy, and hinder it from taking a Vent, which would have ruined the only Opportunity of his Life. Leonora withdrew into an Arbour so near him, that he could distinctly hear her if she Played or Sung: Having tuned her Lute, with a Voice soft as the Breath of Angels, she flung to it this following Air:

I.

Ah! Whither, whither shall I fly, A poor unhappy Maid; To hopeless Love and Misery By my own Heart betray'd? Not by Alexis Eyes undone, Nor by his Charming Faithless Tongue, Or any Practis'd Art; Such real Ills may hope a Cure, But the sad Pains which I endure Proceed from fansied Smart.

II.

'Twas Fancy gave Alexis Charms, Ere I beheld his Face: Kind Fancy (then) could fold our Arms, And form a soft Embrace. But since I've seen the real Swain, And try'd to fancy him again, I'm by my Fancy taught, Though 'tis a Bliss no Tongue can tell, To have Alexis, yet 'tis Hell To have him but in Thought.

The Song ended grieved Hippolito that it was so soon ended; and in the Ecstacy he was then rapt, I believe he would have been satisfied to have expired with it. He could not help Flattering himself, (though at the same Time he checked his own Vanity) that he was the Person meant in the Song. While he was indulging which thought, to his happy Astonishment, he heard it encouraged by these Words:

'Unhappy Leonora (said she) how is thy poor unwary Heart misled? Whither am I come? The false deluding Lights of an imaginary Flame, have led me, a poor benighted Victim, to a real Fire. I burn and am consumed with hopeless Love; those Beams in whose soft temperate warmth I wanton'd heretofore, now flash destruction to my Soul, my Treacherous greedy Eyes have suck'd the glaring Light, they have united all its Rays, and, like a burning-Glass, convey'd the pointed Meteor to my Heart--Ah! Aurelian, how quickly hast thou Conquer'd, and how quickly must thou Forsake. Oh Happy (to me unfortunately Happy) Juliana! I am to be the subject of thy Triumph--To thee Aurelian comes laden with the Tribute of my Heart and Glories in the Oblation of his broken Vows.--What then, is Aurelian False! False! alass, I know not what I say; How can he be False, or True, or any Thing to me? What Promises did he ere make or I receive? Sure I dream, or I am mad, and fansie it to be Love; Foolish Girl, recal thy banish'd Reason.--Ah! would it were no more, would I could rave, sure that would give me Ease, and rob me of the Sense of Pain; at least, among my wandring Thoughts, I should at sometime light upon Aurelian, and fansie him to be mine; kind Madness would flatter my poor feeble Wishes, and sometimes tell me Aurelian is not lost--not irrecoverably--not for ever lost.

Hippolito could hear no more, he had not Room for half his Transport. When Leonora perceived a Man coming toward her, she fell a trembling, and could not