IN THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 165 



a sanctuary so overhung \with great masses of 

 foliage, so secluded and silent, that we took the 

 rude pile of moss-grown stones we found there as 

 an altar to solitude, and our stillness became part 

 of the universal worship of silence which touched 

 us with a deep and beautiful solemnity. Wherever 

 we strayed the same tranquil leisure enfolded us ; 

 day followed day in an order unbroken and peace 

 ful as the unfolding of the flowers and the silent 

 march of the stars. Time no longer ran like the 

 few sands in a delicate hour-glass held by a fragile 

 human hand, but like a majestic river fed by fath 

 omless seas. The sky, bare and free from horizon 

 to horizon, was itself a symbol of eternity, with its 

 infinite depth of color, its sublime serenity, its deep 

 silence broken only by the flight and songs of birds. 

 These were at home in that ethereal sphere, at rest 

 in that boundless space, and we were not slow to 

 learn the lesson of their freedom and joy. We gave 

 ourselves up to the sweetness of that unmeasured 

 life, without thought of yesterday or to-morrow ; 

 we drank the cup which to-day held to our lips, and 

 knew that so long as we were athirst that draught 

 would not be denied us. 



