And with the innumerable
wave-sighs come innumerable memories, and faces which I shall never
see again upon this earth. I will not tell even you of that, old
friend.
It has two notes, two keys rather, that Eolian-harp of fir-needles
above my head; according as the wind is east or west, the needles dry
or wet. This easterly key of to-day is shriller, more cheerful,
warmer in sound, though the day itself be colder: but grander still,
as well as softer, is the sad soughing key in which the south-west
wind roars on, rain-laden, over the forest, and calls me forth--being
a minute philosopher--to catch trout in the nearest chalk-stream.
The breeze is gone a while; and I am in perfect silence--a silence
which may be heard. Not a sound; and not a moving object; absolutely
none. The absence of animal life is solemn, startling. That
ringdove, who was cooing half a mile away, has hushed his moan; that
flock of long-tailed titmice, which were twinging and pecking about
the fir-cones a few minutes since, are gone: and now there is not
even a gnat to quiver in the slant sun-rays.
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