3iS THROUGH THE FIELDS WITH LINN, -E US 



CHAPTER XII. 



A VISIT TO ENGLAND. 



Wearily stretches the land to the surge, and the surge to the cloud- 

 land; 



Wearily onward I ride, watchins: the water alone. 



Not as of old, like Homeric Achilles, Kvde'i yaiotv, 



Joyous knight-errant of God, thirsting for labour and strife, 



No more on magical steed borne free through the regions of ether, 



But, like the hack which I ride, selling my sinew for gold. 



Fruit-bearing autumn is gone ; let the sad quiet winter hang o'er 

 me 



What were the spring to a soul laden with sorrow and shame ? 



Blossoms would fret me with beauty ; my heart has no time to be- 

 praise them ; 



Grey rock, bough, surge, cloud, waken no yearning within. 



Sing not, thou skylark above ! Even angels passed hushed by the 

 weeper. 



Scream on, ye sea-fowl ! my heart echoes your desolate cry. 



Sweep the dry sand on, thou wild wind, to drift o'er the shell and 

 the seaweed : 



Seaweed and shell, like my dreams, swept down the pitiless tide. 



Elegiacs, EINGSLEY. 



LlNNJSUS's longing for Sweden and the Lapland Alps 

 was smothered for a while in a change of scene that 

 occurred to him in the spring of 1736, turning his 

 thoughts away from the North. Clifford, ever kind to 

 him, saw his depression, and thought change of air 

 would be beneficial to his favourite. Accordingly, his 



