"Once I loved to be the priestess of song and music; now I feel only that it is a miserable lot to be slave to a multitude." "Fly, then, with me," said the artist, passionately; "quit forever the calling that divides that heart I would have all my own.

Share my fate now and forever,--my pride, my delight, my ideal! Thou shalt inspire my canvas and my song; thy beauty shall be made at once holy and renowned.
In the galleries of princes, crowds shall gather round the effigy of a Venus or a Saint, and a whisper shall break forth, 'It is Viola Pisani!' Ah! Viola, I adore thee; tell me that I do not worship in vain." "Thou art good and fair," said Viola, gazing on her lover, as he pressed nearer to her, and clasped her hand in his; "but what should I give thee in return ?" "Love, love,--only love!" "A sister's love ?" "Ah, speak not with such cruel coldness!" "It is all I have for thee.

Listen to me, signor: when I look on your face, when I hear your voice, a certain serene and tranquil calm creeps over and lulls thoughts,--oh, how feverish, how wild! When thou art gone, the day seems a shade more dark; but the shadow soon flies.

I miss thee not; I think not of thee: no, I love thee not; and I will give myself only where I love." "But I would teach thee to love me; fear it not.

Nay, such love as thou describest, in our tranquil climates, is the love of innocence and youth." "Of innocence!" said Viola.