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 !" 



