nue which was so dear to
me--a secret sympathy had frequently drawn me thither....

the moon rose from behind a hill, increasing his melancholy, and
Charlotte put his feeling into words, saying (like Klopstock):

_September_ 10.--Whenever I walk by moonlight, it brings to my
remembrance all my beloved and departed friends, and I am filled
with thoughts of death and futurity.

Even in his misery he realises the [Greek: charisgoon] of Euripides,
Petrarch's _dolendi voluptas_--the _Wonne der Wehmuth_.

On September 4th he wrote:

It is even so! As Nature puts on her autumn tints, it becomes
autumn with me and around me. My leaves are sere and yellow, and
the neighbouring trees are divested of their foliage.

It was due to this autumn feeling that he could say:

Ossian has superseded Homer in my heart. To what a world does the
illustrious bard carry me! To wander over pathless wilds,
surrounded by impetuous whirlwinds, where, by the feeble light of
the moon, we see the spirits of our ancestors; to hear from the
mountain tops, 'mid the roar of torrents, their plaintive sounds
issuing from deep caverns.... And this heart is now dead; no
sentiment can revive it. My eyes are dry, and my senses, no more
refreshed by the influence of soft tears, wither and consume my
brain. I suffer much, for I have lost the only charm of life,
that active sacred power which created worlds around me, and it
is no more. When I look from my window at the distant hills and
behold the morning sun breaking through the mists and
illuminating the country round it which is still wrapt in
silence, whilst the soft stream winds gently through the willows
which have shed their leaves; when glorious Nature displays all
her beauties before me, and her wondrous prospects are
ineffectual to attract one tear of joy from my withered heart....

On November 30th he wrote: 'About dinner-time I went to walk by the
river side, for I had no appetite,' and goes on in the tone of
Ossian:

Everything around me seemed gloomy: a cold and damp easterly wind
blew from the mountains, and black heavy clouds spread over the
plain.

and in the dreadful night of the flood:

Upon the stroke of twelve I hastened forth. I beheld a fearful
sight. The foaming torrents rolled from the mountains in the
moonlight; fields and meadows, trees and hedges, were c