Monologue

Eunoe Monologue from Proserpine

From Proserpine by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

female · melancholic · 46 sec

:The sun now dips his beams :In the bright sea; Ceres descends at eve :From Jove's high conclave; if her much-loved child :Should meet her not in yonder golden field, :Where to the evening wind the ripe grain waves :Its yellow head, how will her heart misgive. :Let us adjure the Naiad of yon brook, :She may perchance have seen our Proserpine, :And tell us to what distant field she's strayed:– :Wait thou, dear Ino, here, while I repair :To the tree-shaded source of her swift stream.

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