It was summer, and the sun had mounted high.
Nowhere, dominion o’er the enlightened spirit whose meditative sympathies repose upon the breast of faith.
I turned away, and walked along my road in happiness.
The wanderer.
Ere long the sun declining shot a slant and mellow radiance, which began to fall upon us, while, beneath the trees, we sate on that low bench. And now we felt, admonished thus, the sweet hour coming on. A linnet warbled from those lofty elms, a thrush sang loud, and other melodies, at distance heard, peopled the milder air. The old Man rose, and, with a sprightly mien of hopeful preparation, grasped his staff, Together casting then a farewell look Upon those silent walls, we left the shade. And, ere the stars were visible, had reached a village-inn, our evening resting-place.
