We climbed up over the mossy rocks and sat
down in the grotto beside the dark, still pool. It was the most absolute
solitude.
The rocks towered above and over us to the height of six hundred feet, and
the gray walls of the wild glen below shut out all appearance of life. I
leaned over the rock and drank of the blue crystal that grew gradually
darker toward the center till it became a mirror and gave back a perfect
reflection of the crags above it. There was no bubbling, no gushing up
from its deep bosom, but the wealth of sparkling waters continually welled
over as from a too-full goblet.
It was with actual sorrow that I turned away from the silent spot. I never
visited a place to which the fancy clung more suddenly and fondly. There
is something holy in its solitude, making one envy Petrarch the years of
calm and unsullied enjoyment which blest him there. As some persons whom
we pass as strangers strike a hidden chord in our spirits, compelling a
silent sympathy with them, so some landscapes have a character of beauty
which harmonizes thrillingly with the mood in which we look upon them,
till we forget admiration in the glow of spontaneous attachment.
Pages:
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213