CHAPTER XIV.
"These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;
But in my breast, and in my brain,
Awake the pangs that pass not by,
The thought that ne'er shall sleep again.
My soul nor deigns, nor dares complain,
Though grief and passion there rebel!"
Byron.
It may not be uninteresting to follow awhile the fortunes of Douglas, hitherto occupying so great a portion of Rosilia's thoughts.
Unaccustomed to regulate his conduct, or to submit to disappointment in any of its shapes, we left him, at the beginning of our narrative, overwhelmed with excessive grief, a sort of tempest of the soul, caused by Rosilia's refusal; baffled in the success of his passion, and in his expectations of bliss, the misery to which he was reduced seemed permitted by Divine Providence, in order to effect the commencement of his reformation; for, all enrapt as he had been by the love of self and the world, still there happily had remained one spark, amidst the fading embers,
