And so it was—one heart, but not a heart at ease; the love-renewed still owned a pang of terror. But day after day came out of the softening heavens—hour after hour preached and expounded of the mellowed nature—the soul which had learned to forget itself; other pictures rose under Menie’s fingers—faces which looked you bravely in the face—eyes that forgot to doubt and criticise. The clouds cleared from her firmament in gusts and rapid evolutions, as before these brisk October winds. One fear followed another, falling like the autumn leaves; a warmer atmosphere crept into the cottage, a brighter sunshine filled its homely rooms. Day by day, advancing steadily, the son drew farther in, to his domestic place. The mother gave her welcome heartily; the daughter, saying nothing, felt the more; and no one said a word of grumbling, save perverse Jenny, who wept with joy the while, when another year and another life lighted up into natural gladness the sweet harmonious quiet of Menie Laurie’s heart. MARATHON. [_Note._—These lines were written shortly after a visit to the plain of Marathon, and personal inspection of the ground. The historical facts are taken from Herodotus; the mythological allusions, and other incidental circumstances, from the two chapters of Pausanias (Att. I., c. 15 & 32), where the paintings of the famous Portico of the Stoics in Athens, and the district of Marathon, are described with characteristic detail.] 1. From high Pentelicus’ pine-clad height[24] A voice of warning came, That shook the silent autumn night With fear to Media’s name. Pan from his Marathonian cave[25] Sent screams of midnight terror, And darkling horror curled the wave On the broad sea’s moonlit mirror. Woe, Persia, woe! thou liest low, low! Let the golden palaces groan! Ye mothers weep for sons that shall sleep In gore on Marathon! 2. Where Indus and Hydaspes roll, Where treeless deserts glow, Where Scythians roam beneath the pole O’er fields of hardened snow, The great Darius rules; and now, Thou little Greece, to thee He comes; thou thin-soiled Athens, how Shalt thou dare to be free? There is a God that wields the rod Above: by Him alone The Greek shall be free, when the Mede shall flee In shame from Marathon. 3.