In compliance with her humour a few viands were served to
her in her own apartment. She was induced by the entreaties of her
attendant, to call up a momentary smile upon her countenance, and to
endeavour to partake of the refreshment that was offered her. But the
effort was vain. It was the sunshine of an April day; her repast in
spite of her was bedewed with tears, and she ate the bread of sorrow.
As soon as it was concluded, she was invited to a short excursion in the
garden of the mansion. Unused to refusal, the natural mildness of her
temper inclined to comply. She saw the necessity of not yielding herself
up to passive and unresisting melancholy. The natural serenity of
innocence did not yet permit her to be insensible to the attractions of
enjoyment; and the transient view she had had of the garden, as she
passed to the terrace, led her to expect from it, something that might
sooth her pensive thoughts, and something that might divert her
affliction.
The garden of Rodogune was an inclosure in a bottom glade, at the
entrance of which, though nigh to the castle, and upon a lower ground,
you wholly lost sight of the mansion, and every external object. But
though these were excluded, the sorceress by her art had also excluded
the appearance of limits and boundaries.
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