“That, my kind patron, is Colin’s unhappy case. You will bear me witness that I felt my happiness too extreme to continue, and it is already eclipsed. I have become sensible that ’twas not, as I dared to hope, the return of my own affection, but that obliging softness of temper which distinguishes my charmer, that induced her to be mine. A mere rude shepherd, I felt myself infinitely unworthy of so much beauty and virtue, but I fancied that the continual society of my beloved girl might in time elevate me nearer to her. But when I find her regarding me with apprehension, if not with aversion, what hope can I cherish?”
“Pray, good youth, inform me what has led you to this mournful conclusion.”
“Indeed, Damœtas, I discover in my Silvia such a fixed melancholy as affects me inexpressibly. She beholds me depart in the morning with tears, and welcomes me with tears when I return at night, while coming upon her suddenly I have several times found her weeping. Add to this that she avoids my caresses, and won’t permit me to enjoy her company in peace even at our frugal meals, but is for ever rising to peer round the corner of our hut, or among the trees, as though she anticipated the approach of some enemy, although I have assured her repeatedly that there’s none in the vicinity. Whence can this uneasiness proceed but from aversion for her Colin? But even worse than this is the passion she displays for serving me and anticipating my desires (in all but the matter I have most at heart), such as the merest slave might exhibit. This morning only I bade her be seated, and told her with some sharpness that ’twas for me to serve her, when she cried out with tears that this was the sole recompense she could make me for the horrid injury she had done me.”
“And this injury—what do you understand it to be, Colin?”
“Oh, sir, what can it be but the permitting herself to listen to my addresses, merely in order to oblige her friends? I don’t deny but she hoped to oblige me as well, her grateful spirit estimating far too high the slight service I had rendered her, and indeed, my sentiments towards the dear creature are such that I could be content with being allowed to serve her, in the hope of bringing her in time to regard me with affection, but for the thought of the wrong I am inflicting on her in keeping her bound to a spouse she abhors.”
“But you have made no attempt to enquire of your Silvia whether you have judged her aright?”
“Oh no, sir; how would it profit me to hear the dreadful truth confirmed by the lips of the woman I adore? No, I won’t pain her by exhibiting what she has made me suffer. I may serve her better than that.”
The good hermit folded his hands upon his staff, and looked fixedly at Colin. “Rash youth,” he said, “what are these wild dreams in your mind?”
“There are none, Damœtas, but if in the strife with Sinzonius’ forces an arrow should penetrate to this sad heart, my charmer would once more be free.”
“I don’t, I won’t believe,” said the hermit, “that she desires her liberty. Accept my counsel, Colin. Meet your Silvia always with a smiling and affable countenance, consult her wishes, and disregard her melancholy, which may be dissipated when once her spirits are recovered from her imprisonment. If you don’t succeed in banishing it, at least you won’t have added to it.”