THE MIDSUMMER FLOWERS. 219 
days when The Sanctuary was yet unviolated to glide 
from the broad bosom of the lake through the narrow 
channel winding hither and thither amid clumps of 
sweet gale and Cassandra, through patches of the yel- 
low lily and over countless forms of aquatic life, into 
this sheltered nook. The wind was sighing in the tops 
of the tall pines on the left, and the light leaves of the 
chestnut were tossing all about on the right and in front, 
but no breath, at this depth, could ruffle the surface of 
the little pool. Save the great hawk which sailed away 
from among the pines as we entered, there was no sign 
of bird life. All was still as the shadows which at that 
hour lay around the margin. 
We are tempted to look along the shore for those 
mild-eyed melancholy lotos-eaters bearing branches of 
that enchanted stem, laden with flower and fruit, which 
so charmed the companions of Ulysses; but after drink- 
ing in the charméd beauty of the scene we paddle away 
again, watching the shores lined with shrubbery to the 
water’s edge, with here and there a belated azalea cov- 
ered with its sweet white blossoms, watching the water- 
grasses wave as we pass, until we emerge again over the 
sandy bar on the wider waters of the lake. 
“And we followed the curving shore, 
And ever northward bore.” 
