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Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
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Untitled Article
hidden and indefinable sympathy towards them ? How you wish and long to mingle your being and every sense with that quiet ,, harmonious , and delicious solitude , which waft to you a wooing invitation . Then away ! spring over the elastic carpets of richly
tinted mosses—dash through the yielding heather barrierspause and stoop to look on the bright red stems that bend to your pressure , entwine round your limbs , arid flash their beaut y up into your eyes . You are stepping on , through and over the annually renovated growths of twenty centuries or more ; and the prostrate brown ferns which crackle beneath your feet , will , in a few weeks , send up from their earth hidden roots , thousands of tall , curling , green younglings , to mingle with the purple blossoms of the heather—then may you riot and roll in a sea of
perfume—leap , spring , bound along now in a deli g ht which feels not the clog of animality . You inhale the exhilarating gas in such copiousness , that veins and arteries are no longer the channels of blood—they are all air-cells and electric conductors : the bird above your head floats not more buoyantly than you bound and sail on this precious bosomed earth . Wind your way down
to that broad line of clearing , that avenue of enchantment ; it seems to have been intended for a carriage road , but , luckily , the projector , rather amending his taste , or growing sick of the novelty , no longer charmed with his first vague , unfastening impressions of beauty , has abandoned it again to the old possessors , turf , and fern , and heather . Here walk awhile , slowly it must be , for you are fascinated into hesitation , and pause at every step . There they are , grouped in magical beauty , silent loveliness ! amid each group , in serious pride of contemplation of the gracious forms and spirits around him , stands a reverend oak ,
smiling serenely , serenely and benignantly smiling , while he contemplates—the sultan of the harem !—but they are not his slaves —they are free as himself . Yes , there they are , fair young nymphs ; their slender forms enveloped in white silk and silver ; their smooth limbs just perceivably waving ; and their abundant , glorious , pendulous tresses swinging in the light wind ; swaying gently to and fro , their rich heads and drooping locks are moving
to the sweet music , that immortal harmony , which cannot be heard in our ' muddy vestiture of decay . ' The sky above bends down upon the scene to look and listen , and clips the whole in an embrace of joy . Your soul is heaving and swelling in the fulness of happiness , of enchantment , as you gaze here . Your
heart floods with a rushing tide of eloquence ; but speech is too poor to bear it along , and voiceless and tongueless it rolls within , bathing and imbuing every faculty of thought and feeling with the omnipotence of love . If you can cast your reflections back upon the world you have left , far , far behind you , search the stores of memory , and examine each fibre of sense which memory ag itates . Is there any bad passion there ? is there any corrosion ,
Untitled Article
488 A Peep into Sherwood Forest ,
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Citation
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Monthly Repository (1806-1838) and Unitarian Chronicle (1832-1833), June 2, 1834, page 428, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/mruc/issues/vm2-ncseproduct2634/page/46/
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