Bindon Hill 243 



the hearth " arise to mingle with the growing 

 twilight : 



" Et jam summa prooul villarum culmina fumant, 

 Majoresque cadunt altis de montibus umbrae.'' 



Even now it is hard to leave Bindon ; but he is 

 composing himself to sleep, with all the life that is 

 about him — unless indeed those fairy spiders spin 

 their gossamer in the stillness of the night, to adorn 

 him in the morning's sunlight with a network of 

 intangible lace. 



