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I gently led him with his lively charge Past all the ranks: she thank'd me courteously; Then, with the few companions of her sport, Took to the woods again. I, with my men, Our route pursued, and met with her no more. Her name and state I knew not; Yet, like a beauteous vision from the blest, Her form has oft upon my mind return'd; And tho' this day the sight had ne'er restor'd, It ne'er had been forgotten. Gentle Rosinberg! Be not displeas'd! I would have told thee this, When first to-day we talk'd of Mantua's princess, But thou wert griev'd and jealous of me then, And so I shut my breast and said no more.

Ros. O Basil! thou art weaker than a child.

Bas. Yes, yes, my friend, but 'tis a noble weakness; A weakness which hath greater things atchiev'd Than all the firm, determin'd strength of reason. By heav'n! I feel a new-born pow'r within me Shall make me twenty-fold the man I've been Before this fated day.

Ros. Fated indeed! but an ill-fated day, That makes thee other than thy former self. Yet let it work its will; it cannot change thee To ought I shall not love.

Bas. Thanks, Rosinberg! thou art a noble heart! I would not be the man thou couldst not love For an Imperial Crown. [