And then we came to a great iron bridge, sternly silhouetted in the sunset. On either side rose cliffs of darkness, and beneath, like sheets of cold moonlight, flowed the Genesee, a Dantesque effect of jet and silver, Stygian in its intensity and indescribably mournful. The banks of Acheron can not be more wildly _funèbre_, and it was companionable to hear Colin's voice mimicking out of the darkness: "In this country me do rough-a work. In Pal-aer-mo do polit-a work!" "Poor chap!" I said, after a pause, thinking of our friend from Pal-aer-mo. "Do you know Hafiz, Colin?" I continued. "There is an ode of his that came back to me as our poor Italian was talking. I think I will say it to you. It is just the time and place for it." "Do," said Colin. And then I repeated: _"At sunset, when the eyes of exiles fill, And distance makes a desert of the heart, And all the lonely world grows lonelier still, I with the other exiles go apart, And offer up the stranger's evening prayer. My body shakes with weeping as I pray, Thinking on all I love that are not there, So desolately absent far away-- My Love and Friend, and my own land and home. O aching emptiness of evening skies! O foolish heart, what tempted thee to roam So far away from the Beloved's eyes! To the Beloved's country I belong-- I am a stranger in this foreign place; Strange are its streets, and strange to me its tongue; Strange to the stranger each familiar face. 'Tis not my city! Take me by the hand, Divine protector of the lonely ones, And lead me back to the Beloved's land-- Back to my friends and my companions O wind that blows from Shiraz, bring to me A little dust from my Beloved's street; Send Hafiz something, love, that comes from thee, Touched by thy hand, or trodden by thy feet."_ "My! but that makes one feel lonesome," was Colin's comment. "I wonder if there will be any mail from the folk at Mount Morris." CHAPTER XIV THE OLD LADY OF THE WALNUTS AND OTHERS