I Beheld Her Favorite Pavilion Which Had Witnessed Our
Parting Scene.
The window was open, with the same vine clambering about
it, precisely as when she waved and wept me an adieu.
Oh! how
transporting was the contrast in my situation. As I passed near the
pavilion, I heard the tones of a female voice. They thrilled through me
with an appeal to my heart not to be mistaken. Before I could think, I
felt they were Bianca's. For an instant I paused, overpowered with
agitation. I feared to break in suddenly upon her. I softly ascended
the steps of the pavilion. The door was open. I saw Bianca seated at a
table; her back was towards me; she was warbling a soft melancholy air,
and was occupied in drawing. A glance sufficed to show me that she was
copying one of my own paintings. I gazed on her for a moment in a
delicious tumult of emotions. She paused in her singing; a heavy sigh,
almost a sob followed. I could no longer contain myself. "Bianca!"
exclaimed I, in a half smothered voice. She started at the sound;
brushed back the ringlets that hung clustering about her face; darted a
glance at me; uttered a piercing shriek and would have fallen to the
earth, had I not caught her in my arms.
"Bianca! my own Bianca!" exclaimed I, folding her to my bosom; my voice
stifled in sobs of convulsive joy. She lay in my arms without sense or
motion.
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