Hither the world’s last echoes come to die:
Land, shipwrecked mariners; the port is here.
[127] “Yes, ’tis one of those abodes where our heart feels itself enlivened by something of heaven which floats around it—one of those abodes which as a child I loved and of which I used to dream, whose beauty, serene, inexhaustible, penetrating, sheds upon the soul a serious and sublime forgetfulness of all that is evil on earth or in man.”
[128] Marie Jenna, Elévations Poétiques et Religieuses.
[129] Memories of Childhood.
’Twas in a wood, in the shadow of the oaks,
We children three, all proud of our seven years,
Unknowing yet of trouble or of care,
With our resounding voices filled the air.