TALE XII - OLIVIA; THE LADY OF ILLYRIA

Summary

“She that hath a heart of that fine frame,

To pay this debt of love but to a brother,

How will she love, when the rich, golden shaft,

Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else

That live in her! when liver, brain, and heart,

These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and filled,

(Her sweet perfections) with one self king!”

Twelfth Night.

It was one of those glorious evenings on the Adriatic shores. The sun had set; but the rich orange glow in the west, still marked the gorgeous pomp of his departure; mingling its fervid gold with the intense blue of the southern sky. The vivid glare of light was sobered into a depth of color,—the heat of day was tempered into a soft luxurious warmth, that filled the air with voluptuous beauty. The nearer trees were embrowned in shadow; the mountain horizon lay empurpled in distance. All was steeped in the sumptuous hues, and balmy repose of evening in a meridional clime. The sole enjoyer of the scene, at this hour, was a solitary horseman, pacing slowly along the road; which lay rather inland, the sea-coast screened from view by trees, and broken ground, and such intervening objects. It was scarcely more than a bridle-way; little frequented by travellers, although it led to the principal place in Illyria, where the reigning duke held his court; strangers mostly arriving by ship, and proceeding from the harbour into the capital.