The giant steed to be bestrode by Death,
As told in the apocalypse.’
‘Well, Madam, why are you silent? Shall we go?’
‘No. I could stay here till nightfall. I was thinking of the lines succeeding those you have repeated:
——‘No eyes
But mine now drink the sight of loveliness,’’
‘Am I nobody?’
‘We are alone here. How many of the light of heart, in youth and strength and beauty, climbed these rocks, shouted in these old woods, and gathered the summer flowers along these banks—and passed away! Where are they now! Some who wrote their names in the traveller’s book in this cottage, have them now written by others on their tombstone. One I knew well, who, full of health and beauty, passed up this wild ravine, who has faded like the flowers she culled, and is now in her father’s house, to pass in a few more days to heaven. And of all the rest, did we know their history, what a picture would it give of life!’
‘You are thoughtful for one so young.’
‘Are not twenty years enough to make one a moment thoughtful? Tell me now, thou of the gray head, of what art thou thinking?’