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 site;
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 evening steals upon the day,
His children, wife and happy home shall see.

As Emily approached the shores of Italy she began to discriminate the
rich features and varied colouring of the landscape--the purple hills,
groves of orange pine and cypress, shading magnificent villas, and towns
rising among vineyards and plantations. The noble Brenta, pouring its
broad waves into the sea, now appeared, and, when she reached its mouth,
the barge stopped, that the horses might be fastened which were now to
tow it up the stream. This done, Emily gave a last look to the Adriatic,
and to the dim sail,

that from the sky-mix'd wave
Dawns on the sight,

and the barge slowly glided between the green and luxuriant slopes
of the river. The grandeur of the Palladian villas, that adorn these
shores, was considerably heightened by the setting rays, which threw
strong contrasts of light and shade upon the porticos and long arcades,
and beamed a mellow lustre upon the orangeries and the tall groves of
pine and cypress, that overhung the buildings. The scent of oranges, of
flowering myrtles, and other odoriferous plants was diffused upon the
air, and often, from these embowered retreats, a strain of music stole
on the calm, and 'softened into silence.'

The sun now sunk below the horizon, twilight fell over the landscape,
and Emily, wrapt in musing silence, continued to watch its features
gradually vanishing into obscurity. She remembered her many happy
evenings, when with St. Aubert she had observed the shades of twilight
steal over a scene as beautiful as this, from the gardens of La Vallee,
and a tear fell to the memory of her father. Her spirits were softened
into melancholy by the influence of the hour, by the low murmur of
the wave passing under the vessel, and the stillness of the air, that
trembled only at intervals with distant music:--why else should she, at
these moments, have looked on her attachment to Valancourt with presages
so very afflicting, since she h