All were most agreeably surprised and eagerly wished to discover the singer.
After some search, they found in an angle of the right wall a deep sunken path, to which the footsteps seemed to lead them. Soon they thought they perceived a light, which became clearer as they approached. A new vault of greater extent than those they had yet passed opened before them, in the further extremity of which they saw a human form sitting by a lamp, with a great book before him upon a slab, in which he appeared to be reading.
The figure turned towards them, arose, and came forward. He was a man whose age it were impossible to guess. He seemed neither old nor young, and no traces of time were discoverable, except in his smooth silvery hair, which was parted on his forehead. An indescribable air of serenity dwelt in his eyes, as if he were looking down from a clear mountain into an infinite spring.
He had sandals upon his feet, and wore no other dress except a large mantle cast around him, which added dignity to his noble form. He expressed no surprise at their unexpected arrival, and greeted them as old acquaintances and expected guests.
"It is pleasant indeed," said he, "that you have sought me. You are the first friends I have ever seen, though I have dwelt here a long season. It seems that men are beginning to examine our spacious and wonderful mansion a little more closely."
The old man answered, "We did not expect to find here so friendly a host. We had been told of wild beasts and spectres, but we now find ourselves most agreeably deceived. If we have disturbed your devotions or deep meditations, pardon it to our curiosity."
"Can any sight be more delightful," said the unknown, "than the joyous and speaking countenance of man? Think not that I am a misanthrope, because you find me in this solitude. I have not shunned the world, but have only sought a retirement, where I could apply myself to my meditations undisturbed."
"Have you never grieved for your own desolation, and do not hours sometimes come, when you are fearful, and long to hear a human voice?"
"Now, no more. There was a time in my youth, when a highly wrought imagination induced me to become a hermit. Dark forebodings busied my youthful fancy. I thought to find in solitude full nourishment for my heart. The fountain of my inner life seemed inexhaustible. But I soon learned that fulness of experience must be added to it, that a young heart cannot dwell alone; nay, that man, by manifold intercourse with his race, reaches a certain self-subsisting independence."
"I myself believe," said the old man, "that there is a certain natural impulse to every mode of life; and that perhaps the experiences of increasing age lead of themselves to a withdrawal from human society. It then seems as if society were devoted to activity as much for gain as for maintenance. It is powerfully impelled by a great hope, by a common object, and children and the aged seem not at home. Helplessness and ignorance exclude the first from it, while the latter, with every hope fulfilled, every object attained, and new hopes and objects no longer woven into their circle, turn back into themselves, and find enough employment in preparing for a higher existence. But more peculiar causes seem to have separated you entirely from men, and influenced you to resign all the comforts of society. Methinks that the tension of your mind must often relax, and give place to the most disagreeable emotions."