THE TRUE HARP.
Soul of the Bard! stand up, like thy harp's majestical pillar!
Like its golden arch, O heart! in reverence bow thee and bend!
Mind of the Bard, like the strings be manifold, changeful, responsive:
This is the harp God smites—the harp, man's master and friend!
Aubrey de Vere.
A PILGRIMAGE TO CAYLA.[145]
Cayla, August 1, 1867.
My dear Friend: In pressing my hand for the last time, when I left Quebec two months ago, you said, "Do not fail to visit Cayla." I made you the promise, and to-day I accomplish it. It is from the chamber itself of Eugénie de Guérin that I write.
You who have such an avowed admiration for the sister of Maurice, with what rapture you will enjoy the minute details which I have to communicate! How many times have we asked, after having read the admirable Journal of Eugénie, after having lived with her the life at Cayla, what had become of that domestic life which she described with such exquisite art, and which she caused us to love so much? Who are now the actual inmates of that antique château? If "Mimi," sweet "Mimi," is still living? etc. To all these questions I can to-day reply. On my return to Poitiers from a short visit to the little city of Airvault, the cradle of my ancestors, I turned my steps toward Toulouse, where I arrived this morning. The entire city was in a state of festivity, the streets were all decorated, and filled with pilgrims, flags waved in every direction, and the façades of the houses were hung with wreaths of flowers. They were celebrating the last day of the grand fêtes in honor of St. Germaine Cousin.