face of the river;—the slender shrub, the stately tree, the seed bursting from the ground—all renewed their vigorous animation. The bough that over-night had but the swelling germ, displayed a full-formed leaf, or an opened flower, to the noontide sun.
Amid all this luxuriance of life, was there none for Guido?—was he to be the only one to whom the spring brought no hope, no renewal of breath and bloom? She turned away sickening from the joyous face of nature; she could not see a rose unfold without envying its beautiful renovation.
Guido was still equal to occasional exercise; and he delighted to wander with Francesca and Lucy through the quiet glades of the forest. He revelled in the fragrance of the warm air, and was never weary of admiring the hawthorn, drooping beneath the transitory wealth of its most aromatic blossoms. There appeared to be a thousand harmonies in nature unnoticed till now; his soul had laid aside all meaner cares, and was in unison with them. A subtle and tender sympathy seemed to reveal to him secrets before unknown—secrets whose key was love,—love, which, though tried, thwarted, and turned aside from its perfectness in the wayfaring below, is still the animating spirit of the universe.
