"It is a day of days," she said, as I approached; "a day of all days
either to live or die. It is a fair day for the sons of earth and
life- ah, more fair for the daughters of heaven and death!"
I kissed her forehead, and she continued:
"I am dying, yet shall I live."
"Morella!"
"The days have never been when thou couldst love me- but her whom
in life thou didst abhor, in death thou shalt adore."
"Morella!"
"I repeat I am dying. But within me is a pledge of that affection-
ah, how little!- which thou didst feel for me, Morella. And when my
spirit departs shall the child live- thy child and mine, Morella's.
But thy days shall be days of sorrow- that sorrow which is the most
lasting of impressions, as the cypress is the most enduring of trees.
For the hours of thy happiness are over and joy is not gathered
twice in a life, as the roses of Paestum twice in a year. Thou shalt
no longer, then, play the Teian with time, but, being ignorant of
the myrtle and the vine, thou shalt bear about with thee thy shroud
on the earth, as do the Moslemin at Mecca.
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