[31] 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. —

Fonthill 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 [32] 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 silence. —
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 raise Illusions. —
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 [33] 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 [34] 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 Genius. —

Fonthill 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 [35] 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 Week’s absence can have produced such effects — can have rendered me so miserable — Am I not the strangest of Beings? —

Fonthill Jan.y 1780

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 [36] 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. –

[37] 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 [38] 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 [39] 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. –

Mount 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 [40] 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


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