A LOST ART, OR THE POTTER OF POMPEIA. 441 



may escape from my vow, without sin, without exile. Thou mayst 

 call me thine for ever, and possess wealth, and honour. I will show 

 thee how; for I have offered sacrifices to the gods, who have made me 

 solemnly brave and patient ; nay, there is rapture in my resolve. Go 

 thither, when the orb of Dian rises o'er the plain. Thou shalt find me, 

 with pearls for my garland, and rubies for my wine ! Therefore live, 

 oh, my dearest, to bring down the pride of those who trampled thy 

 humility, sparing only the centurion, because he is my cousin, and once 

 did serve my sire. All good gods guard thee ! we shall meet again." 

 This speech I understood not, yet I hope, and will obey. 



Inexorable Jove ! Oh, Junia ! Child of love and honour ! What 

 hast thou done? Now ye earthquakes now, Vesuvius, home of 

 infernals, send pestilence yet, no ; she bade me live for justice ; is 

 this life ? The pearl -browed queen of night arose. I glode into the 

 thicket, and beheld my love but where? Sleeping, as it seemed, 

 beneath the slow fall of that mystic spring. I called on her, but she 

 answered not, nor stirred at my*bidding. She was deaf to my frantic 

 cry, blind to my tears. I strove to raise her, but it would not be ; she 

 was now as the rock itself, the scroll she held, the garb she wore, 

 petrified. I brought a brand, and kindled the boughs around her, nor 

 noise, nor light, nor heat, availed. A vase of wine stood in the water. 

 I dashed it to atoms ; but the liquid flowing not forth, clove, in sparkles 

 to its urn ; and I saw the truth, crying, te Oh, ho ! fair, quiet stream, 

 thou art like the cold ones of the world, who go on unimpeded in their 

 own course, yet stagnate every thing more genial which comes near 

 them. I pay mine all for thy terrible secret." Junia had found it first, 

 and voluntarily died, that she might shamelessly remain with me. I 

 imagined her waiting for death, with a smile my name washed from 

 her lip, as it changed to stone, Yes, unpolluted by another's embrace, 

 she was mine. The faith of her spirit had frozen and hardened her 

 warm and tender heart. Passion had purified the same, and was now, 

 of itself, quenched. She might defy her foe. She was with the gods, 

 yet with me ; and, though she ate not at my board, I might sit beside 

 her bed. The fire had her not, nor the air, the earth, nor the worms 

 thereof. Ever young, she, herself, and no copy, would weepingly 

 smile on her adorer, even if he lived to be aged. The murmur of the 

 well should seem her deep sweet voice, the perfume of the flowers her 

 delicious sigh. We were happier than the first lovers of this scene. 

 I had slain none for her sake ; no conscience was burdened by her 

 death. Think, ye who love, what it must be to keep, as if embalmed 

 in tears, changelessly, incorruptibly, the aspect of the beautiful, be- 

 queathing it to all time, as a proof that ye did not falsely rave. This 

 power was mine ! and many of us have such statues, if but in our own 

 hearts, sources alike of pride and of despair. But to conceal my trea- 

 sure I must try the virtue of this spring still further. Accordingly I 

 devoted that night to forming an osier-work temple around and above 

 this shrine, with an entrance, which I might secure within. It was 

 done. I sprinkled the branches with that gifted water, and they 

 formed a wall. This barrier, however, if detected, might be broken 

 down. The only armour against this world's cruelty is wealth. I 

 gathered up the splinters that once were wine, and, at dawn, bearing 

 them to a lapidary, asked how many pieces he would give me for 



