Mrs. O'Sullivan did not reach Ballinamoyle till half past twelve at night; for the horses, being not much the better for the morning's chase, proceeded but slowly up a mountainous road. From the lateness of the hour, she did not, on that night, see Mr. O'Sullivan; who, finding himself indisposed in the evening, had unwillingly retired to bed, delegating the task of receiving his guests to his cousin, an ancient virgin, who presided over his ménage, and who gave the travellers, if not a courtly, at least a cordial reception; and, after doing the honours of an excellent supper, conducted them to their sleeping rooms, which they most gladly occupied, and enjoyed all the luxury of the sensation of comfort, as they compared them to those they had the night before inhabited, in the miserable cabaret at Ballycoolen.
END OF VOL. II.
I know, Olalla, that thou lov'st me,
Though words have ne'er thy flame confess'd;
Nor even have those guarded eyes,
Mute tell-tales of love's embassies,
Betray'd the secret of thy breast,—
Yet still, Olalla, still thou lov'st me.
[2] The false propriety which she preaches is more dangerous than vice itself, inasmuch as it seduces by an appearance of reason—inasmuch as it recommends the usages and the maxims of the world in preference to strict integrity—inasmuch as it makes wisdom appear to be a certain medium between vice and virtue.
[3] What should I do at Rome, unknowing how to feign?
When tremblingly I raise my eyes
To view that form, which in my breast
The hand of Love has deep impressed,
My shiv'ring frame, in sudden trance,
Congeals beneath thy lightning glance;
But soon my heart, in broken sighs,
Renews the tale it told before,
And, counting all thy beauties o'er,
Dwells on thy talents, virtues rare,
Thy mind so pure, thy form so fair,
Till even hope amid the whispers dies.
N. B. Freezing beneath a lightning glance, in the original—a fair example of Italian concetti.