thy coolest breeze Can never slake, nor can its rage thy coolest wave appease; The earth can bring no solace to the ardor of my pain, And the whole ocean waters were poured on it in vain.

Bold sure he was, and worthie spirite bore, That durst those lowest shadowes goe to see, And could beleeve that anie thing could please Fell Cerberus, or Stygian powres appease.

When Charlotte wrote of passion, of its tragic suffering, or of its ultimate appeasing, she, after all, wrote of things that might have happened to her.