IX

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IX

Dreaming herself the heroine

Of the romances she preferred,

Clarissa, Julia, Delphine⁠—

Tattiana through the forest erred,

And the bad book accompanies.

Upon those pages she descries

Her passion’s faithful counterpart,

Fruit of the yearnings of the heart.

She heaves a sigh and deep intent

On raptures, sorrows not her own,

She murmurs in an undertone

A letter for her hero meant:

That hero, though his merit shone,

Was certainly no Grandison.