If you would have the river's
company you should wander, a happy solitary, along its banks,
watching its gleaming current in the early morning, its golden
glory as it answers the farewell of parting day. Then, in the
silence of the night, you can hear the wash and eddy calling one to
another, count the heart-beats of the great bearer of burdens, and
watch in the moonlight the sisters of the mist as they lament with
wringing hands the days that are gone.
The forests, too, are ready with story hid in the fastness of their
solitude, and it is a joy to think that those great pines, pointing
ever upwards, go for the most part to carry the sails of great
ships seeking afar under open sky. The forest holds other wonders
still. It seems but last night that I wandered down the road which
led to the little unheeded village where I had made my temporary
home. The warm-scented breath of the pines and the stillness of
the night wrapped me in great content; the summer lightning leapt
in a lambent arch across the east, and the stars, seen dimly
through the sombre tree crests, were outrivalled by the glow-worms
which shone in countless points of light from bank and hedge; even
two charcoal-burners, who passed with friendly greeting, had
wreathed their hats with the living flame. The tiny shifting lamps
were everywhere; pale yellow, purely white, or green as the
underside of a northern wave. By day but an ugly, repellent worm;
but darkness comes, and lo, a star alight.
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