SOPHENE AND lOPHOCtES. 219 



although it increased her troubles, in spite of her fearfulness, she was 

 persuaded by the mild and gentle wishes of her " friends and dear rela- 

 tions, to repeat the narrative she had given me, to which Sophene, verv 

 sensibly added some particulars that she had left untold, in the warmth 

 and excitement consequent on our first meeting. They were as follow :— 



"After having swam some time, we landed on a desert shore, where 

 we remained some days. I must not forget that, being one night weary, 

 and so falling into a sound sleep, a winged child came and sat by me. 

 I well recollected the darling stranger ; it was Love. 'Cruel author of 

 my pains,' I said, • wilt thou expose me to new misfortunes ? Have I 

 not suffered enough } Why do you not suffer me to die ?' ' Sophene.' 

 answered he, ' your distresses come from fate ; it knows no power above 

 Itself, and my reign extends only over the hearts. You shall find your 

 Sophocles again.' It flew away : I awoke, and mistrusting his predic- 

 tion, I continued in the same state of dejection. We were expecting 

 nothing but death, when a vessel appeared in the distance, and shortly 

 drew near the shore. We kept our anxious eyes fixed upon the shal- 

 lop, and lifted up our hands to heaven in a paroxism of fervent gratitude. 

 The crew had discerned us, for they presently came to our assistance. 

 They were wretches that, with much ado, had escaped from the tempest's 

 dreadful wrath, during which the music of the spheres conspired to 

 chaunt a new and glorious hymn of wondrous thunder- praise, to the 

 holy god of nature; illumined as it was— peal after peal— by the brilliant 

 flashes of the quick cross lightning's elementary panoply, which had the 

 effect of inspiring every one who beheld that awful occurrence, with in- 

 communicable dread— with a heart-felt conviction, that whilst heaven 

 can protect, the gods can also avenge— what an affecting scene ! A 

 particular account of it, I will spare you. The excess of their misery 

 did not hinder them from feeling for us : not satisfied with supplying us 

 with some coarse vestments half-worn out, thev gave us some scraps 

 they had left : which they had scarcely finished, when pirates, or in 

 other words wild beasts, attacked them. What resistance were they 

 capable of? Their death followed close upon their slavery. 



"Those degraded and degrading Ethiopians, whose remembrance frigh- 

 tens me yet, spared only my deliverer and me. They carried us to Arty- 

 come. Sostrates saw me crowned with laurel, when I went out of the 

 fountain of Minerva. He bought me to attend his daughters, and kept 

 Andomedon for himself. I found in his house the end of my miseries. 

 Charming Rhodope ! I will never be unmindful of your kindness, as my 

 mistress ; you did restore me to liberty ; but you did not set my heart 

 free from the everlasting bonds of gratitude— it still, it ever must love 

 you." 



Sophene said nothing more. Sostrates was charmed with her discre- 

 tion— "And you, also," said he, "you are my daughter," "O my 

 father !" exclaimed Rhodope, taking Sophene about the neck, you give 

 me a dangerous sister — but I love her so well, as not to envy her your 

 tenderness." " Why have I not a son," observed Sosthenes, " to pro- 

 pose for this charming daughter of yours?" " I know no man," replied 

 Sostrates, " so worthy of Rhodope, as Imlacca, Sophocles' friend, unless 

 she has some exception to make against him." While they were busv 

 iving .one another soft and mutual tokens of aflection, Rhodope 



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