THIS, MY FIRST WORK, IS INSCRIBED AND DEDICATED, WITH THE SINCEREST ESTEEM AND AFFECTION, MISS JANE PORTER; WHO HAS KNOWN ME FROM MY INFANCY; AS A DAUGHTER, A SISTER, AND A FRIEND; WHOSE GENIUS IS EQUALLED BY HER ENDEARING VIRTUES, THE ADVOCATE OF MILD, GENUINE PIETY, AND WHOSE AND ENVY. THE AUTHORESS. THE POET'S DAUGHTER. CHAPTER I. "Oh! that the sum of human happiness But bears it from the view. Oh! who would shun And dark vicissitudes ?" FAIR Italy-garden of the world-land of love, and softness, and refinement- how can your children exist when exiled to a colder and more sterile clime? How must their hearts yearn towards you, land of palaces, and blue skies, and sunny vineyards, and all fair and VOL. 1. B beautiful things! How must they pine after your balmy and delicious breezes, your fertile plains, your glorious and eternal monuments of other and brighter days! How must their senses languish for your dulcet strains of heaventaught harmony, your breathing statues, your sublime paintings, your noble and mighty ruins! Oh! Italy, dear Italy-land of my love; when shall this weary heart again beat beneath your warm sun? when shall I again tread your fair shores? when shall these eyes, dim with weeping, gaze once more on your boundless plains, your glassy seas, and placid lakes? when shall your cloud-capt mountains again greet this straining sight? Alas! alas! years, long, dreary years, have passed and faded into the abyss of by-gone things; crushing and blighting sorrows have fallen on this once ardent soul; yet still do I love thee, my fair country, with a love surpassing that of woman; and when death, friendly death, shall come to release me from my long, sad pilgrimage, the last words that |