Here Princess Elizabeth was in her element. Here was the forest and liberty! The greater the raging of the storm, the happier the young enthusiast felt herself. Amid the wildest gusts of wind and rain she hurried into the forests, and neither snow nor thunder growling overhead could stop her. In the house the world seemed too narrow for her, and she longed for the freedom of nature. Three magnificent St. Bernard dogs sprang romping and bounding after her; foremost of all Mentor, the favourite. When the storm broke mighty branches from the trees and drove the dry leaves whirling before her the young Princess was joyous, roaming through the pathless forests and listening to the howling and whistling of the wind and the creaking of the branches. STORM IN THE FOREST. There roars from the forest A symphony wild; The wind drives before it The tempest-clouds piled. With a crash the stems sunder, The tossing trees moan; The wind and the thunder Hold revel alone; ’Tis a joust which they play at, A contest of might Shall adjudge which is stronger To lash the waves white, To ravage the woodland:-- But, ’midst their mad noises, I go with firm footstep And soul that rejoices. A ray beams upon me From heart to heart ranging; For me there is sunshine Unclouded, unchanging. --_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._ In the autumn, when the golden leaves lay thick on the ground, she would wander for hours in the rustling foliage and listen to the sound it made. It had a voice which spoke to her. Each ray of sunshine which lighted up the forest or the long sweeps of country before her, each blade of grass, light and air, birds and flowers, had a personal meaning for her. She returned with her head full of poetic thoughts, and wrote down what the forest, the storm, the sun, and the birds had confided to her. “Thou forest-scent! Thou forest-song! Sounds, perfumes, freshly borne along, How sweet to me you are! How glad grow heart and ear for you! What joy you bring, and comfort too, Unto our little Star!” --_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._ With such strains of poetry Princess Elizabeth calmed her excited fancy. But no one was to know that she secretly wrote these little verses. It was a deep secret which she “hid from the books on the shelf and even the air in the room.” “So lived I in spirit, Lonely, my own hidden life, by none to be known of; Never a sound, nor cloud-picture, but brought to my fancy Matter for thought without end, and a keen-edged emotion.” --_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._