MEMOIR OF BRUCE. 
70 
mind of the traveller. “ Half undressed as I was 
(says he), and throwing my shoes off, I ran down 
the hill towards the green islaud of sods, which 
was about two hundred yards distant. The whole 
side of the hill was thick grown with flowers, the 
large bulbous roots of which, appearing above the 
surface, and their skins coming off on treading upon 
them, occasioned me two very severe falls before 
I reached the brink of the marsh. I, after this, 
came to the mound of green turf, which was in 
form of an altar, apparently the work of art, and I 
stood in rapture over the principal fountain which 
rises in the middle of it. 
“ It is easier (continues Bruce in a strain of 
rapturous exultation) to guess than to describe the 
situation of my mind at that moment — standing on 
the spot which had baffled the genius, industry, and 
inquiry of both ancients and modems for nearly 
three thousand years. Kings had attempted this 
discovery at the head of armies, and each expedi- 
tion was distinguished from the last, only by the 
difference of the numbers which had perished ; and 
agreed only in the disappointment that had uniformly 
and without exception followed them all. Though 
a mere private Briton, I triumphed here, in my own 
mind, over kings and their armies ; and every com- 
parison was leading nearer and nearer to presump- 
tion, when the place itself where I stood, the object 
of my vain-glory, suggested what depressed my 
short-lived triumph. I was but a few minutes 
arrived at the source of the Nile, through number- 
