BOOK IX. THE CAPTIVE IN LEASH
They were standing on the hill-top, watching the last glimmer of the sinking moon. As the faint perfume of the clover came to them upon the warm evening wind, she sighed, and whispered—
“Too rare, too rare, grow now my visits here!
‘Mid city noise, not as with thee of yore,
Thyrsis! in reach of sheep-bells is my home!”
She paused.
“Go on,” he said, and she quoted—
“Then through the great town’s harsh, heart-wearying roar,
Let in thy voice a whisper always come,
To chase fatigue and fear:
Why faintest thou? I wandered till I died.
Roam on! The light we sought is shining still.”
Section 1. Thyrsis made his plans and packed his few belongings. There came another pass from the “higher regions”, and he took the night-train once more, and came to the little town upon the shores of Lake Ontario. Once more the sun shone on the crystal-green water, and the cold breeze blew from off the lake. There was still snow in the ravines of the deep woods, but Thyrsis got his tent out of the farmer’s barn, and patched up the holes the mice had gnawed, and put it up on the old familiar spot.
It was strange to him to be there without Corydon. There were so many things to remind him of her—a sudden memory would catch him unawares, and stab him like a knife. There was the rocky headland where they had swam, and there was the pine-tree that the lightning had splintered, one day while they were standing near. When darkness came, and he was unpacking a few old things that they had left up in the country, his loneliness seemed to him almost more than he could bear; he sat by the little stove, holding a pair of her old faded slippers in his hands, and felt his tears trickling down upon them.