there was a perilous
attraction for me in worlds that slept and rested; and if the Erl-king's
daughter had revealed herself to my perceptions, there was one 'show'
that she might have promised which would have wiled me away with her
into the dimmest depths of the mightiest and remotest forests.

3.--WHO IS THIS WOMAN THAT BECKONETH AND WARNETH ME FROM THE PLACE WHERE
SHE IS, AND IN WHOSE EYES IS WOEFUL REMEMBRANCE? I GUESS WHO SHE IS.

In my dreams were often prefigurements of my future, as I could not but
read the signs. What man has not some time in dewy morn, or sequestered
eve, or in the still night-watches, when deep sleep falleth on other men
but visiteth not his weary eyelids--what man, I say, has not some time
hushed his spirit and questioned with himself whether some things seen
or obscurely felt, were not anticipated as by mystic foretaste in some
far halcyon time, post-natal or ante-natal he knew not; only assuredly
he knew that for him past and present and future merged in one awful
moment of lightning revelation. Oh, spirit that dwelleth in man, how
subtle are _thy_ revelations; how deep, how delirious the raptures thou
canst inspire; how poignant the stings with which thou canst pierce the
heart; how sweet the honey with which thou assuagest the wound; how dark
the despairs and accusings that lie behind thy curtains, and leap upon
us like lightning from the cloud, with the sense as of some heavenly
blazoning, and oftentimes carry us beyond ourselves!

It is a sweet morning in June, and the fragrance of the roses is wafted
towards me as I move--for I am walking in a lawny meadow, still wet
with dew--and a wavering mist lies over the distance. Suddenly it seems
to lift, and out of the dewy dimness emerges a cottage, embowered with
roses and clustering clematis; and the hills, in which it is set like a
gem, are tree-clad, and rise billowy behind it, and to the right and to
the left are glistening expanses of water. Over the cottage there hangs
a halo, as if clouds had but parted there. From the door of that cottage
emerges a figure, the countenance full of the trepidation of some dread
woe feared or remembered. With waving arm and tearful uplifted face the
figure first beckons me onward, and then, when I have advanced some
yards, frowning, warns me away. As I still continue to advance, despite
the warning, darkness falls: figure, cottage, hills, trees, and halo
fade and disappear; and all that remain