I resolve to live she beckons and I follow her
she points to you and still moving forwards leads me to the one I
adore. The whole perspective brightens as she advances the
Trees regain their foliage and the Skies their serenity. See she flies
to the utmost verge of Nature and discovering to my astonished Sight
those cristal Stairs which lead to another World I soar on her pinions
to the Portals of eternal Happiness. The Valves are thrown
back by her beneficent hand and under her auspices I wander delighted
over the vast Regions of Futurity.
Friday 8 o Clock Eve.
Decr. 3d 1779
The Winds are whispering to me the strangest things in the Universe
and my ear is filled with aerial Conversations. What a multitude
of Voices are born on that blast from afar!
I walk to and fro! in my Cell and fancy myself in the Caverns of Chehabeddin
where every volume  contained a Spirit I lay my Ear close
to them listen and seem harkening to significant Murmurs. The
Soul of Plato talks to me from the Leaves, Homer gives responses
I am awed, I tremble and wait their Dictates in respectable
The Fires and Lamps burn around in stilness and it is this sacred
Calm which invites departed Sages to my Cell. No one enters
this apartment its Solitude is now unviolated. I alone am conscious
what Treasures of Litterature are deposited on every side and what
exquisite productions of Art lie hid in its recesses. Here
I pass whole Hours in pleasing Dreams and employ my Magic Solely to
Innumerable Phantoms continually hover around me and the most splendid
Scenes instantaneously appear at my Command. Your Sunset is the Talisman
which transports me to Hesperia and under the auspices of your pencil
I ascend Mount Atlas and watch the last blushes of Day from its exalted
Summit. I have lately committed myself to the guidance of Voyagers
and followed them over vast Oceans to distant Climates where my exotic
Inclinations are satisfied; but what  would be my joy were you
to accompany me. Must I give up all Hope of seeing you this
Winter in the Hall of the Pyramid Must I renounce this inexpressible
satisfaction. I cannot I will not. Think how
we should exult at finding ourselves in arched Chambers glowing with
yellow Light amidst Vases formed in another Hemisphere
and cabalistic Mirrors wherein Futurity is unveiled.
Let me intreat you not to refuse my Solicitations but come (if only
for a Day) and let us converse once more together in the peaceful
Palace in the interior Cell, where none but holy Spirits can hear
our Discourse. There in that still retreat let me tell
you all I feel let me confess to you the sorrows that prey
upon my mind and own how hopeless how dejected I am.
You can pity me you have felt the misery of being separated
from all one loves you can share my afflictions when I disclose
my disappointment and when I say It is in vain these Vases
are ranged in the loveliest Order and filled with the perfume
of Roses in vain this whole Apartment is spread with  the richest
Carpets and glows with the softest Lights those Eyes are not
destined to survey it on whom I could gaze for ever
Adieu remember me and write immediately. A Letter from
you will be my greatest Consolation I desire this Letter may be sacred
and be neither read to nor seen by any one.
There is a Book called the sorrows of Werter read it and tell me if
every Line is not :::: resplendent with
Decr. 29th 1779
My Cares have been a little while suspended for I have been
listening these several Evenings to plaintive Sicilian Airs you can
hardly believe what a melancholy has of late possessed me.
My Ideas of Happiness are at length very simple for they consist alone
in a secure retirement with the one I love. I have not spirits
to write ten Lines My only consolation is to hear Louisa and
her Sister sing. Never could I have believed myself so entirely
subdued by whom you solely are acquainted. I wonder
at myself every instant and only wish you was  here to be surprized
at me One moment I am for flying into ......... the next ........
my Cheeks glow and I determine to remain immured in my Cell
Is it possible that a few Weeks absence can have produced such
effects can have rendered me so miserable Am I not the
strangest of Beings?
Every Day have I been waiting impatiently to hear from you my lovely
Louisa and every Post has brought some new disappointment Fonthill
is darkly shaded, & all its charms overcast since no Letters
have arrived from you. It is in your power by writing a Talisman
to dissipate the gloom of its Cells and will you refuse this consolation.
I fancy I am not the least altered if you are not the
same genuine melancholy and thorough contempt of the World inspires
me to remain in solitude and silence Visions play around me
and at some solemn moment I am cast into prophetic Trances.
Lost in Dreams and magic Slumbers my Hours glide swiftly away.
I have none to  awaken me none to sympathize, with my feelings,
Those I love are absent Thus desolate and abandoned
I seek refuge in aerial conversations and talk with Spirits whose
voices are murmuring in the Gales. They are my Counsellors
from them I hear of past and future events they sing
of departed Seers and Heroes and bring me indian Intelligence,
but not one Syllable have they whispered about you why then
are you the only superior Being who is deaf to me and silent?
By neglecting incantations my Wand has lost it powers
were I endowed with the skill of Avicenna it should summon Genii to
whaft us to Hesperian Countries. There should we discover the
only Human Being who is worthy of our discourse moving amongst
the woody Dells and calling us to enter their Shades.
Fonthill Feby 6 1780
I share the same low Spirits which haunt my Friend and sincerely sympathize
with his dejection. You have made me quite uneasy and I shall
be miserable till I know what affects you so sadly Your concerns
always become my own How sorry I am not to have the power of
transporting myself to you and of attempting at least to dissipate
your gloom. That employment alone could cheer me or divert
the deep melancholy into which I am plunged. My own sorrows
would vanish before yours ; but still I fear I should prove
a forlorn Comforter depressed and languid as I am, nor will
you wonder at my being so when you consider my dreary situation
I have no one to speak to in my own Language which ever
way I turn none present themselves in whom I can place the
least confidence or to whom I can express my sensations.
I look eagerly for the approach of Spring & watch every swelling
bud with the most anxious impatience. You know I resolved
to remain here the whole  Winter alas when I formed and
communicated that resolution I had the pleasing hopes
of passing many Hours with the one who loved me so tenderly
and sometimes you know I flattered myself with the idea of enjoying
your company but when I found this happy prospect vanishing
away I began to pine like those miserable Indians we saw last
Winter torn from their native Regions and shivering in the
midst of Frenguistan cold gloomy Country certainly
we were not meant to inhabit it we should have been born in
some retired region of Mount Atlas where we might have passed our
days with a harmless race of Savages happy in their ignorance and
fortunate in cloudless Skies and perpetual Sunshine. I have
no more spirits at present for writing than you have all my
consolation is centered in Fingal and the wild musick of the Winds.
I sit for Hours listening to the murmurs of Night the
passing breeze and distant Waterfall. Tis my Solitude makes
me unhappy were you here I should cease to complain  I should
then revive - Your kindness in writing only those few lines
affected me beyond expression I require no more To hear you
are less dejected will be the most agreeable tidings that can reach
my wilderness forget not to send them immediately
Your Son I suppose is pretty far advanced in finishing the drawings
I am impatient to see them; but I must not name the Word impatience
least I abandon myself intirely to its influence. How I long to see
you to tell you a thousand things I cannot write Indeed
you are the only Being upon this planet in whose bosom I can deposite
every thought which enters mine.
Edgcumbe Wed.y Oc.r 17 1781
Here am I breathing the soft air of Mount Edgcumbe standing upon the
brink of a Cliff overlooking the Sea and singing Notturnos with Pacchiarotti.
Innumerable Insects are humming about the Myrtles and arbutus
which hang on the steeps and are covered with blossoms.
I cannot help thinking myself in an Isle of the Atlantic Ocean
to which if we believe Pindar and his  poetic Brethren the Souls
of Heroes are transported Here are the very paths I ran over
two years ago the pines against which I rested the bank
where I stretched myself out and fell into one of my happy dreams.
I have visited all my old haunts and paid my oblations at a
Spring that I am certain is the resort of Sylvanus. Would that
you could see me bounding along the Terrace which hangs bold and free
above the Ocean. You would almost apprehend I should trust
myself to the Air and leap off the edge of the precipices.
We have been blessed to day with a Sky of the purest azure and soft
breezes like those of Spring. I have been up and down and every where
upon the rocks No creek no Crevice I believe has been left
unexplored You would delight in the picturesque fragments
the crooked pines and luxuriant shrubs amongst which I have passed
my day. Pacchiarotti as happy and enraptured as myself does
nothing but sing and thank Heaven that he has entered a Region so
like his Native