The twelve adventurers, and other storiesBrontë, Charlotte
Science
The twelve adventurers, and other stories
Brontë, Charlotte
English fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, English
After three days of continued travel I arrived on the banks of a
wide and profound river winding through a vast valley embosomed in
hills whose robe of rich and flowery verdure was broken only by the
long shadow of groves, and here and there by clustering herds and
flocks lying, white as snow, in the green hollows between the mountains.
It was the evening of a calm summer day when I reached this enchanting
spot. The only sounds now audible were the songs of shepherds, swelling
and dying at intervals, and the murmur of gliding waves. I neither
knew nor cared where I was. My bodily faculties of eye and ear were
absorbed in the contemplation of this delightful scene, and, wandering
unheedingly along, I left the guidance of the river and entered a
wood, invited by the warbling of a hundred forest minstrels. Soon
I perceived the narrow, tangled woodpath to widen, and gradually
it assumed the appearance of a green shady alley. Occasionally bowers
of roses and myrtles appeared by the pathside, with soft banks of
moss for the weary to repose on. Notwithstanding these indications
of individual property, curiosity and the allurements of music and
cool shade led me forwards. At length I entered a glade in the wood,
in the midst of which was a small but exquisitely beautiful marble
edifice of pure and dazzling whiteness. On the broad steps of the
portico two figures were reclining, at sight of whom I instantly
stepped behind a low, wide-spreading fig-tree, where I could hear
and see all that passed without fear of detection. One was a youth
of lofty stature and remarkably graceful demeanour, attired in a
rich purple vest and mantle, with closely fitting white pantaloons
of white woven silk, displaying to advantage the magnificent proportions
of his form. A richly adorned belt was girt tightly round his waist
from which depended a scimitar whose golden hilt, and scabbard of
the finest Damascus steel, glittered with gems of inestimable value.
His steel-barred cap, crested with tall, snowy plumes, lay beside
him, its absence revealing more clearly the rich curls of dark, glossy
hair clustering round a countenance distinguished by the noble beauty
of its features, but still more by the radiant fire of genius and
intellect visible in the intense brightness of his large, dark, and
lustrous eyes.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account