THE MAMMOTH CAVE. 215 
the soul of him who has been wafted over its 
beautiful rivers, and whose spell-bound steps 
have traversed its dark labyrinths, its vineyards, 
and its ever-blooming floral bowers. Such scenes 
go with us in after-days, and parting is truly a 
‘vain adieu.” 
‘“‘ Adieu to thee again ! .a vain adieu! 
There can be no farewell to scenes like thine,— 
The mind is color’d by thy every hue.” 
In terminating this narrative of the Mammoth 
Cave, which has thus long, pleasantly and agree- 
ably occupied our own thoughts,—and profitably, 
we trust, the thoughts of our readers,—in part- 
ing from those who now “have traced the Pil- 
grim to the scene which is his last,” in this labor 
of love, we cannot, upon laying down our pen, 
give more fitting expression to our feelings than 
in the oft-repeated, and oft-to-be-repeated words 
of the peerless Byron,— 
‘“ Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been— 
A sound which makes us linger ;—yet—farewell !” 
