no longer finds any aliment on earth.

"Madame de la Tour sometimes, leaving the household cares to Margaret,
wandered out alone; and, amidst the sublime scenery, indulged that luxury
of pensive sadness, which is so soothing to the mind after the first
emotions of turbulent sorrow have subsided. Sometimes she poured forth the
effusions of melancholy in the language of verse; and, although her
compositions have little poetical merit, they appear to me to bear the
marks of genuine sensibility. Many of her poems are lost; but some still
remain in my possession, and a few still hang on my memory. I will repeat
to you a sonnet addressed to Love.

SONNET

TO LOVE.

Ah, Love! ere yet I knew thy fatal power,
Bright glow'd the colour of my youthful days,
As, on the sultry zone, the torrid rays,
That paint the broad-leaved plantain's glossy bower;
Calm was my bosom as this silent hour,
When o'er the deep, scarce heard, the zephyr strays,
'Midst the cool tam'rinds indolently plays,
Nor from the orange shakes its od'rous flower:
But, ah! since Love has all my heart possess'd,
That desolated heart what sorrows tear!
Disturb'd and wild as ocean's troubled breast,
When the hoarse tempest of the night is there
Yet my complaining spirit asks no rest;
This bleeding bosom cherishes despair.