The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 06Stevenson, Robert Louis
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The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 06
Stevenson, Robert Louis
English literature -- 19th century
Will thought he had never heard anything like this, and he kept on asking
question after question about the world that lay away down the river,
with all its perils and marvels, until the old miller became quite
interested himself, and at last took him by the hand and led him to the
hill-top that overlooks the valley and the plain. The sun was near
setting, and hung low down in a cloudless sky. Everything was defined and
glorified in golden light. Will had never seen so great an expanse of
country in his life; he stood and gazed with all his eyes. He could see
the cities, and the woods and fields, and the bright curves of the river,
and far away to where the rim of the plain trenched along the shining
heavens. An overmastering emotion seized upon the boy, soul and body; his
heart beat so thickly that he could not breathe; the scene swam before
his eyes; the sun seemed to wheel round and round, and throw off, as it
turned, strange shapes which disappeared with the rapidity of thought,
and were succeeded by others. Will covered his face with his hands, and
burst into a violent fit of tears; and the poor miller, sadly
disappointed and perplexed, saw nothing better for it than to take him up
in his arms and carry him home in silence.
From that day forward Will was full of new hopes and longings. Something
kept tugging at his heart-strings; the running water carried his desires
along with it as he dreamed over its fleeting surface; the wind, as it
ran over innumerable tree-tops, hailed him with encouraging words;
branches beckoned downward; the open road, as it shouldered round the
angles and went turning and vanishing fast and faster down the valley,
tortured him with its solicitations. He spent long whiles on the
eminence, looking down the rivershed and abroad on the fat lowlands, and
watched the clouds that travelled forth upon the sluggish wind and
trailed their purple shadows on the plain; or he would linger by the
wayside, and follow the carriages with his eyes as they rattled downward
by the river. It did not matter what it was; everything that went that
way, were it cloud or carriage, bird or brown water in the stream, he
felt his heart flow out after it in an ecstasy of longing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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