This mind has trac'd its own career,
Nor follow'd blind, where others trod;
Nor, mov'd by love, or hope or fear,
E'er bent to man, or worshipp'd God.
Then hope not now to touch with love,
Or in its chains a heart to draw,
All earthly spells have fail'd to move;
And heav'n's whole terrors cannot awe:
A heart, that like some mountain vast,
And cold with never-melting snow,
Sees nought above, nor deigns to cast
A look away on aught below.
An emotion of interest—something she could not define, even to herself, had impelled Calantha to remain till the song was ended: a different feeling now prompted her to retire in haste. She fled; nor stopped, till she again found herself opposite the castle gate, where she had been left by her companions.
While yet dwelling in thought upon the singular being she had one moment
