Golden Grain Garnered from the World's Great Harvest-field of Knowledge: Comprising Selections from the Ablest Modern Writers of Prose, Poetry, and Legendary Lore
General
Golden Grain Garnered from the World's Great Harvest-field of Knowledge: Comprising Selections from the Ablest Modern Writers of Prose, Poetry, and Legendary Lore
American literature
Over the whole landscape lay a repose and a peace so perfect that no
one could have suspected the close proximity of the capital. When I had
advanced some distance into the forest, I heard the notes of the bugle
and the distant baying of hounds in full cry, which gradually ceased,
till nothing but a faint echo of the bugle reached my ear. I now heard
the roar of the river, which rushed wildly past at some distance on my
left, but as I advanced the road seemed gradually to approach it, and
soon the valley in some parts grew narrower and narrower, till I at
last found myself at the bottom of a deep, gloomy gorge, the greatest
part of which was taken up by the river. But the road left the river
again; there were certainly twistings and turnings, as the old woman
had said, for at one moment it wound hither and the next thither, and
at some places it was almost imperceptible. Now it went up a steep
incline, and when I had passed the brow of the hill, I saw between the
fir trees a couple of twinkling tarns before me, and on the margin of
one of these a dairy on a verdant slope, bathed in the golden light of
the evening sun.
In the shady retreat under the hill grew clusters of luxuriant ferns;
the wild French willow stood proudly with its lofty crest of red and
gorgeous flowers between the pebbles, but the sedate monk's hood
lifted its head still higher and looked gloomily and wickedly down on
it, while it nodded and kept time to the cuckoo's song, as if it were
counting how many days it had to live.
On the verdant slope and down by the edge of the water, the bird-cherry
and the mountain ash displayed their flowery garb of summer. They sent
a pleasant and refreshing fragrance far around, and shook sorrowfully
the leaves of their white flowers over the reflected picture of the
landscape in the mirror of the lake, which on all sides was surrounded
by pine trees and mossy cliffs.
There was no one at home in the dairy. All doors were locked,--I
knocked everywhere, but no answer,--no information as to the road. I
sat down on a rock and waited awhile, but no one appeared. The evening
was setting in; I thought I could not stay there any longer, and
started again. It was still darker in the forest, but shortly I came to
a timber-dam across a bit of river between two lakes.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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