themselves in upon my memory.
    
Sancta Maria! turn thine eyes--
Upon the sinner's sacrifice, 
Of fervent prayer and humble love, 
From thy holy throne above.
    
At morn--at noon--at twilight dim 
Maria! thou hast heard my hymn!
In joy and wo---in good and ill--
Mother of God, be with me still!
    
When the Hours flew brightly by,
And not a cloud obscured the sky, 
My soul, lest it should truant be,
Thy grace did guide to thine and thee;
    
Now, when storms of Fate o'ercast
Darkly my Present and my Past,
Let my Future radiant shine
With sweet hopes of thee and thine!
    
      And then, hour after hour, would I linger
     by her side, and dwell upon the music of her
     voice, until at length its melody was tainted
     with terror, and there fell a shadow upon
     my soul, and I grew pale, and shuddered
     inwardly at those too unearthly tones. And
     thus, joy suddenly faded into horror, and
     the most beautiful became the most hideous,
     as Hinnon became GeHenna.

     It is unnecessary to state the exact
     character of those disquisitions which,
     growing out of the volumes I have
     mentioned, formed, for so long a time,
     almost the sole conversation of Morelia and
     myself. By the learned in what might be
     termed theological morality they will be
     readily conceived, and by the unlearned
     they would, at all events, be little
     understood, The wild Pantheism of Fichte;
    the modified Paliggenesia (Gr.) of Pythagoras; and 
    above all, the doctrines of <i>Identity</i> as urged
    by Schelling, were generally the points of
    discussion presented the most of beauty to
    the imaginative Morella. That identity
    which is termed personal, Mr. Locke, I
    think, truly defines to consist in the
    saneness of rational being. And since by
    person we understand an intelligent essence
    having reason, and since there is a
    consciousness which always accompanies
    thinking, it is this which makes us all to be
    that which we call ourselves, thereby
    distinguishing us from other beings that
    think, and giving us our personal identity.
    But the <i>principium individuationis,</i> the
    notion of that identity <i>which at death is or
    is not lost for ever</i>, was to me, at all times, a
    consideration of intense interest; not more
    from the perplexing and exciting nature of
    its consequences, than from the marked and
    agitated manner in which Morelia mentioned them.

But, indeed, the time had now arrived when the mystery of my wife's manner 
oppressed me as a spell. I could no longer bear the touch of her wan fingers, nor the
low tone of her musical language, 'nor the lustre of her melancholy eyes. And she 
knew all this, but did not upbraid; she seemed conscious of my weakness or my 
folly, and, smiling, called it fate. She seemed also conscious of a cause, to me unknown, 
for the gradual alienation of my regard; but she gave me no hint or token of its nature. 
Yet was- she woman, and pined away daily. In time the crimson spot settled 
steadily upon the cheek, and the blue veins upon the pale forehead became prominent; 
and one instant my nature melted into pity, but