THE BARROW ON THE HEATH 53 



come to give us pause; and we know that we have 

 lived. To dwell alone, then, with this memory of life 

 in such a spot for all time ! There are moments in 

 which the thought of death steals upon and takes us 

 as it were by surprise, and it is then exceeding bitter. 

 It was as if that cold wind blowing over and making 

 strange whispers in the heather had brought a sudden 

 tempest of icy rain to wet and chill me. 



This miserable sensation soon passed away, and, 

 with quieted heart, I began to grow more and more 

 attracted by the thought of resting on so blessed a 

 spot. To have always about me that wildness which 

 I best loved the rude incult heath, the beautiful 

 desolation; to have harsh furze and ling and bramble 

 and bracken to grow on me, and only wild creatures 

 for visitors and company. The little stonechat, the 

 tinkling meadow pipit, the excited whitethroat to 

 sing to me in summer; the deep-burrowing rabbit to 

 bring down his warmth and familar smell among my 

 bones; the heat-loving adder, rich in colour, to find 

 when summer is gone a dry safe shelter and hiber- 

 naculum in my empty skull. 



So beautiful did the thought appear that I could 

 have laid down my life at that moment, in spite of 

 death's bitterness, if by so doing I could have had 

 my desire. But no such sweet and desirable a thing 

 could be given me by this strange people and race 

 that possess the earth, who are not like the people 

 here with me in the twilight on the heath. For I 



