In a few days, I had reason to dread an extension of its baleful influences from the fact, that it was no longer confined to one position in regard to myself.

The shadow retreated to its former position; and when I looked again, it had drawn in all its spears of darkness, and followed like a dog at my heels.

These streaks and spots made his armour look like the floor of a forest in the sunlight.

The glory of his brow vanished; the light of his eye grew cold; and I held my peace.

One bright noon, a little maiden joined me, coming through the wood in a direction at right angles to my path.

Our Earth one little toiling streamlet yields. To guide the wanderers to the happy fields.

Through my tears, the whole landscape glimmered in such bewildering loveliness.

Could I but see the Spirit of the Earth, as I saw once the in dwelling woman of the beech-tree?

At length, in a nook of the river, I saw gloomy death with the weight of overhanging foliage.

Why are all reflections lovelier than what we call the reality?