E. V. B. 



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Undine uncertain if to leave her source, trembling betwixt desire 

 and fear. 



Fain would we linger in the gardens of Portugal, under the 

 sweet-scented camellias of Cintra — lost in golden reveries amid 

 her rose-wreathed thickets. Strange is the remembrance of the 

 beautiful Montserrat cathedral water-aisles, whose torrents foam 

 down in long cascades beneath the high-arched Tree-ferns ! And 

 in Spain, like a scene in the Arabian Nights, comes back to us 

 the old Moorish garden of Granada, with marble-hned canal and 

 lofty arcades of trimmed yew, topped with crescents, pyramids, 

 and crowns.^ 



^ This beautiful rhapsody, addressed ' to the Garden-loving Reader,' formed 

 the Prelude to the first edition of this book. 



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