if that suit better: "Whoso can look on Death will
start at no shadows."

'From such meditations is the Wanderer's attention called outwards;
for now the Valley closes-in abruptly, intersected by a huge mountain
mass, the stony water-worn ascent of which is not to be accomplished
on horseback. Arrived aloft, he finds himself again lifted into the
evening sunset light; and cannot but pause, and gaze round him, some
moments there. An upland irregular expanse of wold, where valleys in
complex branchings are suddenly or slowly arranging their descent
towards every quarter of the sky. The mountain-ranges are beneath your
feet, and folded together: only the loftier summits look down here and
there as on a second plain; lakes also lie clear and earnest in their
solitude. No trace of man now visible; unless indeed it were he who
fashioned that little visible link of Highway, here, as would seem,
scaling the inaccessible, to unite Province with Province. But
sunwards, lo you! how it towers sheer up, a world of Mountains, the
diadem and centre of the mountain region! A hundred and a hundred
savage peaks, in the last light of Day; all glowing, of gold and
amethyst, like giant spirits of the wilderness; there in their
silence, in their solitude, even as on the night when Noah's Deluge
first dried! Beautiful, nay solemn, was the sudden aspect to our
Wanderer. He gazed over those stupendous masses with wonder, almost
with longing desire; never till this hour had he known Nature, that
she was One, that she was his Mother, and divine. And as the ruddy
glow was fading into clearness in the sky, and the Sun had now
departed, a murmur of Eternity and Immensity, of Death and of Life,
stole through his soul; and he felt as if Death and Life were one, as
if the Earth were not dead, as if the Spirit of the Earth had its
throne in that splendour, and his own spirit were therewith holding
communion.

'The spell was broken by a sound of carriage-wheels. Emerging from the
hidden Northward, to sink soon into the hidden Southward, came a gay
Barouche-and-four: it was open; servants and postillions wore
wedding-favours: that happy pair, then, had found each other, it was
their marriage evening! Few moments brought them near: _Du Himmel!_ It
was Herr Towgood and--Blumine! With slight unrecognising salutation
they passed me; plunged down amid the neighbouring thickets, onwards,
to Heaven, and to England; and I, in my friend Richter's words, _I
rema