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THE

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By EMILY CLARK,
SRAND-DAUGHTER OF THE LATE COLONEL FREDERICK,

And Author of
TANTHE AND ERMINA MONTROSE,

Her gentle gaiety, and native ease,
Had won his soul but ah! few days had pass’d,
E’re his fond visions proy'd too sweet to last.

Pleasures of Memory,

VOL. I.

. LONDON:
PRINTED AT THE

Pinerva-Press,
FOR LANE, NEWMAN, AND CO.
LEADENHALL-STREET.

1805,

240. r. 616.

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THE

BANKS OF THE DOURO.

CHAP. I.

While thro' the rugged path of life we go,
All mortals taste the bitter draught of woe;
The fam’d and great, decreed to equal pain,
Full oft' in splendid wretchedness complain.

Falconer.

THE sun had retired behind the moun. tains, the broad expanse of the ocean was unruffled, and its waves slumbered on the shore. The waters of the river Douro gently washed its rocky banks, and the soft and cooling breezes that filled the air scarcely agitated its glassy bosom. It was VOL. I.

on

on this delightful evening that two female peasants, after having toiled during the oppressive heat of the day, seated themselves at the door of their humble habitation, (which was situated near the river,) to enjoy the reviving freshness of the fanning zephyrs.

They cheerfully chatted together, happy to resign the fatigue they had endured for their present repose, when their attention was suddenly directed to a lady, who advanced slowly towards them, covered with a mantilha, * and appeared so weak and ill, that she would frequently stop for some minutes and seem unable to proceed.

As they were hesitating, and consulting if they should offer to assist her, unaided she reached their residence, and requested permission to enter it; then throwing off her mantilha, discovered at the same moment the beautiful and elegant form of a girl of sixteen, who clasped to her bosom

* A Cloak worn by the Portuguese women.

an

an infant of some weeks old. With a countenance expressive of the deepest sorrow, and tears of anguish bedewing her pale sweet face, she threw herself at their feet, raised her fine black eyes that swam in tears to heaven, as if to implore its pity, and in the most moving accents, though .frequently interrupted by sobs that burst with the heartfelt sighs from her bosom, implored them, in the name of the Holy Virgin, to keep secret her ever having been there, to conceal the child she held in her arms for a few hours only, and at midnight a person would come from her to take it away.

The astonished peasants were at first mute with surprise; but recollecting themselves, as they were, fortunately for the young stranger, humane, good-natured, and interested for her from the loveliness of her person, and the sweetness and melancholy softness of her manners, they faithfully promised not to divulge her visit, and to

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conceal

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