To read consent in virgin eyes, To press the lip ne’er pressed till then To hear the sigh of transport rise, And kiss, and kiss, and kiss again, Such are thy pleasures, love, but oh! When shall my heart thy pleasures know?

Chorus

Now hush, my lyre! My voice be still! Sleep, gentle maid! May fond desire With amorous thoughts thy visions fill, Though still my voice, and hushed my lyre.

The music ceased: the performers dispersed, and silence prevailed through the street. Antonia quitted the window with regret: she as usual recommended herself to the protection of St. Rosolia, said her accustomed prayers, and retired to bed. Sleep was not long absent, and his presence relieved her from her terrors and inquietude.