s no easy work. But
suddenly, a great transformation took place; the shelves became
terraces for the noblest trees, with flowers and fruit; heavy clusters
of grapes hung amongst leafy vines, and there was life and movement
all around.

The old folios and dusty manuscripts rose into flower-covered tumuli,
and there sprang forth knights in mail, and kings with golden crowns
on, and there was the clang of harp and shield; history acquired the
life and fullness of poetry--for a poet had entered there. He saw the
living visions; breathed the flowers' fragrance; crushed the grapes,
and drank the sacred juice. But he himself knew not yet that he was a
poet--the bearer of-light for times and generations yet to come.

It was in the fresh, fragrant forest, in the last hour of
leave-taking. Love's kiss, as the farewell, was the initiatory baptism
for the future poetic life; and the fresh fragrance of the forest
became sweeter, the chirping of the birds more melodious: there came
sunlight and cooling breezes. Nature becomes doubly delightful where a
poet walks.

And as there were two roads before Hercules, so there were before him
two roads, shown by two figures, in order to serve him; the one an old
crone, the other a youth, beautiful as the angel that led the young
Tobias.

The old crone had on a mantle, on which were wrought flowers, animals,
and human beings, entwined in an arabesque manner. She had large
spectacles on, and beside her lantern she held a bag filled with old
gilt cards--apparatus for witchcraft, and all the amulets of
superstition: leaning on her crutch, wrinkled and shivering, she was,
however, soaring, like the mist over the meadow.

"Come with me, and you shall see the world, so that a poet can have
benefit from it," said she. "I will light my lantern; it is better
than that which Diogenes bore; I shall lighten your path."

And the light shone; the old crone lifted her head, and stood there
strong and tall, a powerful female figure. She was Superstition.

"I am the strongest in the region of romance," said she,--and she
herself believed it.

And the lantern's light gave the lustre of the full moon over the
whole earth; yes, the earth itself became transparent, as the still
waters of the deep sea, or the glass mountains, in the fairy tale.

"My kingdom is thine! sing what thou see'st; sing as if no bard before
thee had sung thereof."

And it was as if the scene continually changed. Splendid Gothic