Percy Bysshe Shelley,
St. Irvyne; or, the Rosicrucian…
“ She gazed upon his countenance for a moment, then, hiding her face in her hands, sobbed loudly. "What afflicts you, Eloise?" said the stranger: "how cruel, that such a breast as thine should be tortured by pain!" "Ah!" cried Eloise, forgetting that she spoke to a stranger; "how can one avoid sorrow, when there, perhaps, is scarce a being in the world whom I can call my friend; when there is no one on whom I lay claim for protection?" "Say not, Eloise," cried the stranger, reproachfully, yet benignly; "say not that you can claim none as a friend—you may claim me. ”
