THE BOURBONNNOIS.
Back There was nothing from which I had painted out for my self so joyous a riot of the affections, as in this journey in the vintage, through this part of France; but pressing through this gate, of sorrow to it, my sufferings have totally unfitted me. In every scene of festivity, I saw Maria in the background of the piece, sitting pensive under her poplar; and I had got almost to Lyons before I was able to cast a shade across her.
- Dear Sensibility! source inexhausted of all that's precious in our joys, or costly in our sorrows! thou chainest thy martyr down upon his bed of straw--and 'tis thou who lift'st him up to Heaven!- -Eternal Fountain of our feelings!--'tis here I trace thee--and this is thy "DIVINITY WHICH STIRS WITHIN ME;"--not that, in some sad and sickening moments, "MY SOUL SHRINKS BACK UPON HERSELF, AND STARTLES AT DESTRUCTION;"--mere pomp of words!--but that I feel some generous joys and generous cares beyond myself;--all comes from thee, great--great SENSORIUM of the world! which vibrates, if a hair of our heads but falls upon the ground, in the remotest desert of thy creation.--Touch'd with thee, Eugenius draws my curtain when I languish--hears my tale of symptoms, and blames the weather for the disorder of his nerves. Thou giv'st a portion of it sometimes to the roughest peasant who traverses the bleakest mountains;--he finds the lacerated lamb of another's flock.--This moment I behold him leaning with his head against his crook, with piteous inclination looking down upon it!--Oh! had I come one moment sooner! it bleeds to death!--his gentle heart bleeds with it. -
Peace to thee, generous swain!--I see thou walkest off with anguish,--but thy joys shall balance it;--for, happy is thy cottage,--and happy is the sharer of it,--and happy are the lambs which sport about you!
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