Thus passed twenty months of the life of Rasselas. He busied himself so
intensely in visionary bustle, that he forgot his real solitude, and,
amidst hourly preparations for the various incidents of human affairs,
neglected to consider, by what means he should mingle with mankind.
One day, as he was sitting on a bank, he feigned to himself an orphan
virgin, robbed of her little portion by a treacherous lover, and crying
after him, for restitution and redress. So strongly was the image
impressed upon his mind, that he started up in the maid's defence, and
ran forward to seize the plunderer, with all the eagerness of real
pursuit. Fear naturally quickens the flight of guilt: Rasselas could not
catch the fugitive with his utmost efforts; but, resolving to weary, by
perseverance, him whom he could not surpass in speed, he pressed on till
the foot of the mountain stopped his course.
Here he recollected himself, and smiled at his own useless impetuosity.
Then, raising his eyes to the mountain, "This," said he, "is the fatal
obstacle that hinders, at once, the enjoyment of pleasure, and the
exercise of virtue. How long is it that my hopes and wishes have flown
beyond this boundary of my life, which, yet, I never have attempted to
surmount!"
Struck with this reflection, he sat down to muse; and remembered, that,
since he first resolved to escape from his confinement, the sun had
passed twice over him in his annual course.
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