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SOPHENE AND SOPHOCLES. 



A TALE OF ANCIENT GREECE. 



IT was with exquisite pleasure that Sophene and I saw the dawn 

 of a union, which promised to promote ours, take place between 

 our parents ! Deceitful hope ! in the midst of joy fortune was driving 

 us down a dreadful precipice from which Love, with all his power, 

 could hardly save us. 



Towards the third watch of the night, our relations, and all those 

 who had come from Aulycorie, repaired to the temple of Jupiter. I 

 did not accompany them. My ministerial character exempted me 

 from it. As for Sophene, she had retired to her chamber, because 

 decency did not allow young women to be seen in public during the 

 night. 



I went to mine ; but, finding that it would be impossible for me 

 to sleep, I left it, and, groping through the dark, walked into the 

 garden. I there drew near a bower which I preferred to those of 

 Citherea, notwithstanding their celebrity. It was set with jessamin, 

 honey-suckles, rose-bushes, and acacia, intermingled with lime trees. 

 They cast forth sweet odours, which perfumed Sophene's apartment 

 that overlooked that pleasant place of retirement. Except the night- 

 ingale, which, with melodious accents, warbled her unthwarted loves, 

 and solaced the lover unsuccessful in his; all besides in nature 

 seemed to enjoy the repairing balm of sleep. The mysterious light 

 of the moon, working its way through the thick branches that op- 

 posed it, glimmered on her windows, by means of which I saw they 

 were half open. I came on with slow step, and listened to a 

 voice which at once enchanted and troubled my heart. It pro- 

 nounced my name ; I whispered that of Sophene. Attired in a 

 night-dress that showed her fine frame in all its genuine elegancy, 

 she appeared at the window. Sophocles, said she, in an ill-articu- 

 lated accent, is it you ? What do you do there at this time of night? 

 I thought you were in bed. I make a better use, answered I, of the 

 moment of my life henceforth consecrated to you alone. I did not 

 dare to hope for the pleasure of seeing you ; but I was sure of amends 

 being made me for any disappointment, by the pleasure of watching 

 near the place of your rest. I did wish you might enjoy the soundest 

 sleep, and that it might convey to your mind the idea of him whom 

 you have "inspired" with the tenderest ardour that ever enflamed a 

 human breast. I did wish that, when awaked, the soft remembrance 

 of your dreams might render you as sensible of the passion as he is, 

 and that, when out of bed, and looking at the new-blown rose which 

 the first sunbeam calls forth out of its bud, you might say, Beauteous 

 flower! you are the temporary object of Zephyr's love; withered as 



