DEAD LEAVES. 
233 
to be striving to embrace its companion, the 
supporter of its weakness, and, while their 
branches are commingled, a third dashes about 
in every direction, as if it were surrounded by 
enemies. Respect, friendship, hate, anger, seem 
to be alternately communicated by one to ano¬ 
ther. Thus shaken by all the winds, and, as if 
agitated by all the passions, they utter long 
moans, resembling the confused murmurs of an 
alarmed people. There is no predominant voice: 
they are low, deep, monotonous sounds, which 
throw the mind into a vague reverie. Showers 
of dead leaves frequently fall upon the ground, 
deprived of its verdure, and cover the earth 
with a moving garment. The eye cannot help 
watching how the winds pursue, scatter, whirl, 
and drive hither and thither these sad remains 
of a spring that will never return. 
