cannot, at least, prevent her image from being enshrined in my heart. No,
Julia! even when thou descendest to the grave, thy remembrance will cause
thee to live in my imagination, and I shall thus write thine elegy:

I cannot deem thee dead--like the perfumes
Arising from Judea's vanished shrines
Thy voice still floats around me--nor can tombs
A thousand, from my memory hide the lines
Of beauty, on thine aspect which abode,
Like streaks of sunshine pictured there by God.

She shall be mine," continued he in the same strain. "Prose and verse
shall woo her for my lady-love; and she shall blush and hang her head in
modest joy, even as the rose when listening to the music of her beloved
bulbul beneath the stars of night."

These amorous effusions, and the tone of insufferable affectation with
which they were uttered, roused my corruption to its utmost pitch, and I
exclaimed aloud, "Think not, thou revivification of Falstaff--thou
enlarged edition of Lambert--thou folio of humanity--thou Titan--thou
Briareus--thou Sphynx--thou Goliath of Gath, that I shall bend beneath thy
ponderous insolence?" The Mountain was amazed at my courage; I was amazed
at it myself; but what will not Jove, inspired by brandy, effect?

"No," continued I, seeing the impression my words had produced upon him,
"I despise thee, and defy thee, even as Hercules did Antaeus, as Sampson
did Harapha, as Orlando did Ferragus. 'Bulk without spirit vast,' I fear
thee not; come on." So saying, I rushed onward to the Mountain, who arose
from his seat to receive me. The following passage from the Agonistes of
Milton will give some idea of our encounter: