It was in Rome—­the Queen of the World that I suffered a misfortune that reduced me to misery & despair[89]—­The bright sun & deep azure sky were oppressive but nought was so hateful as the voice of Man—­I loved to walk by the shores of the Tiber which were solitary & if the sirocco blew to see the swift clouds pass over St. Peters and the many domes of Rome or if the sun shone I turned my eyes from the sky whose light was too dazzling & gay to be reflected in my tearful eyes I turned them to the river whose swift course was as the speedy departure of happiness and whose turbid colour was gloomy as grief—­

Whether I slept I know not or whether it was in one of those many hours which I spent seated on the ground my mind a chaos of despair & my eyes for ever wet by tears but I was here visited by a lovely spirit whom I have ever worshiped & who tried to repay my adoration by diverting my mind from the hideous memories that racked it.  At first indeed this wanton spirit played a false part & appearing with sable wings & gloomy countenance seemed to take a pleasure in exagerating all my miseries—­and as small hopes arose to snatch them from me & give me in their place gigantic fears which under her fairy hand appeared close, impending & unavoidable—­sometimes she would cruelly leave me while I was thus on the verge of madness and without consoling me leave me nought but heavy leaden sleep—­but at other times she would wilily link less unpleasing thoughts to these most dreadful ones & before I was aware place hopes before me—­futile but consoling[90]—­

One day this lovely spirit—­whose name as she told me was Fantasia came to me in one of her consolotary moods—­her wings which seemed coloured by her tone of mind were not gay but beautiful like that of the partridge & her lovely eyes although they ever burned with an unquenshable fire were shaded & softened by her heavy lids & the black long fringe of her eye lashes—­She thus addressed me—­You mourn for the loss of those you love.  They are gone for ever & great as my power is I cannot recall them to you—­if indeed I wave my wand over you you will fancy that you feel their gentle spirits in the soft air that steals over your cheeks & the distant sound of winds & waters may image to you their voices which will bid you rejoice for that they live—­This will not take away your grief but you will shed sweeter tears than those which full of anguish & hopelessness now start from your eyes—­This I can do & also can I take you to see many of my provinces my fairy lands which you have not yet visited and whose beauty will while away the heavy time—­I have many lovely spots under my command which poets of old have visited and have seen those sights the relation of which has been as a revelation to the world—­many spots I have still in keeping of lovely fields or horrid rocks peopled by the beautiful or the tremendous which I keep in reserve for my future worshippers—­to one of those whose grim terrors frightened sleep from the eye I formerly led you[91] but you now need more pleasing images & although I will not promise you to shew you any new scenes yet if I lead you to one often visited by my followers you will at least see new combinations that will sooth if they do not delight you—­Follow me—­