his
narrow valley screened by

Rocks on rocks piled, as if by magic spell,
Here scorch'd by lightnings, there with ivy green.

The scene of barrenness was here and there interrupted by the spreading
branches of the larch and cedar, which threw their gloom over the cliff,
or athwart the torrent that rolled in the vale. No living creature
appeared, except the izard, scrambling among the rocks, and often
hanging upon points so dangerous, that fancy shrunk from the view of
them. This was such a scene as SALVATOR would have chosen, had he then
existed, for his canvas; St. Aubert, impressed by the romantic character
of the place, almost expected to see banditti start from behind some
projecting rock, and he kept his hand upon the arms with which he always
travelled.

As they advanced, the valley opened; its savage features gradually
softened, and, towards evening, they were among heathy mountains,
stretched in far perspective, along which the solitary sheep-bell was
heard, and the voice of the shepherd calling his wandering flocks to the
nightly fold. His cabin, partly shadowed by the cork-tree and the ilex,
which St. Aubert observed to flourish in higher regions of the air than
any other trees, except the fir, was all the human habitation that yet
appeared. Along the bottom of this valley the most vivid verdure was
spread; and, in the little hollow recesses of the mountains, under the
shade of the oak and chestnut, herds of cattle were grazing. Groups
of them, too, were often seen reposing on the banks of the rivulet, or
laving their sides in the cool stream, and sipping its wave.

The sun was now setting upon the valley; its last light gleamed upon the
water, and heightened the rich yellow and purple tints of the heath and
broom, that overspread the mountains. St. Aubert enquired of Michael
the distance to the hamlet he had mentioned, but the man could not with
certainty tell; and Emily began to fear that he had mistaken the road.
Here was no human being to assist, or direct them; they had left the
shepherd and his cabin far behind, and the scene became so obscured in
twilight, that the eye could not follow the distant perspective of the
valley in search of a cottage, or a hamlet. A glow of the horizon still
marked the west, and this was of some little use to the travellers.
Michael seemed endeavouring to keep up his courage by singing; his
music, however, was not of a kind to disperse melancholy; he sung, in a
sort