Dreams, Waking Thoughts, and IncidentsBeckford, William
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Dreams, Waking Thoughts, and Incidents
Beckford, William
Beckford, William, 1760-1844
The good old man, expressing by his gestures that he wished me to recover
myself in quiet on the bench, hastened, with as much alacrity as his age
permitted, to a cottage adjoining the shed, and returning in a few
moments, presented me some water in a wooden bowl, into which he let fall
several drops of an elixir composed of innumerable herbs, and having
performed this deed of charity, signified to me by a look, in which
benevolence, compassion, and perhaps some little remains of curiosity
were strongly painted, how sorry he was to be restrained by his vow of
silence from inquiring into the cause of my agitation, and giving me
farther assistance. I answered also by signs, on purpose to carry on the
adventure, and suffered him to depart with all his conjectures
unsatisfied.
No sooner had I lost sight of the benevolent hermit, than I started up,
and pursued my path with my former agility, till I came to the edge of a
woody dell, that divided the meadow on which I was running from the
opposite promontory. Here I paused, and looking up at the cliffs, now
but faintly illumined by the sun, which had been some time sinking on our
narrow horizon, reflected that it would be madness to bewilder myself, at
so late an hour, in the mazes of the forest. Being thus determined, I
abandoned with regret the idea of penetrating into the lovely region
before me, and contented myself for some moments with marking the pale
tints of the evening gradually overspreading the cliffs, so lately
flushed with the gleams of the setting sun.
But my eyes were soon diverted from contemplating these objects by a red
light streaming over the northern sky, which attracted my notice, as I
sat on the brow of a sloping hill, looking down a steep hollow vale,
surrounded by the forests, above which rose majestically the varied peaks
and promontories of the mountains.
The upland lawns, which hang at immense heights above the vale, next
caught my attention. I was gazing alternately at them and the valley,
when a long succession of light misty clouds, of strange fantastic
shapes, issuing from a narrow gully between the rocks, passed on, like a
solemn procession, over the hollow dale, midway between the stream that
watered it below and the summits of the cliffs on high.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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