him. At length, disgust with the world overpowered for awhile every other sentiment, and he determined, after having made a pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre, to shut himself up in a monastery. But ere he passed the confines of Germany, he had to sustain a terrible struggle with Love, who resisted with all his might the attempt to dislodge him; the image of the haughty Lucretia ever presented itself before him, do what he might to banish it from his thoughts, following him like a tormenting fiend. Reason urged him to detest the ingrate; but his heart revolted against the dictates of reason. Absence, so far from mitigating his passion, increased it; every step that led him from the object of his love seemed to pour a fresh drop of oil on the flame, and the charms of the beauteous but insensible Lucretia seemed to grow more and more wondrous, the farther they were removed from his vision. Often did the desire well nigh overcome him, to retrace his steps, and seek his salvation, not in the Holy Land, but at Goslar. He, however, proceeded on his journey, but with a heavy heart and lagging footsteps, as a ship which labours against a contrary wind.
In this pitiable state of mind he wandered through the mountain-passes of the Tyrol, and had nearly reached the frontiers of Italy, not far from Roveredo, when he lost his way in a forest, where, after considerable search, he could discover no place of shelter
