e was dark and difficult to
climb; though the water, which once had taken my knees, was satisfied
now with my ankles. After some labour, I reached the top; and halted to
look about me well, before trusting to broad daylight.

The winter (as I said before) had been a very mild one; and now the
spring was toward so that bank and bush were touched with it. The valley
into which I gazed was fair with early promise, having shelter from the
wind and taking all the sunshine. The willow-bushes over the stream
hung as if they were angling with tasseled floats of gold and silver,
bursting like a bean-pod. Between them came the water laughing, like
a maid at her own dancing, and spread with that young blue which never
lives beyond the April. And on either bank, the meadow ruffled as
the breeze came by, opening (through new tuft, of green) daisy-bud or
celandine, or a shy glimpse now and then of the love-lorn primrose.

Though I am so blank of wit, or perhaps for that same reason, these
little things come and dwell with me, and I am happy about them, and
long for nothing better. I feel with every blade of grass, as if it had
a history; and make a child of every bud as though it knew and loved me.
And being so, they seem to tell me of my own delusions, how I am no more
than they, except in self-importance.

While I was forgetting much of many things that harm one, and letting of
my thoughts go wild to sounds and sights of nature, a sweeter note than
thrush or ouzel ever wooed a mate in, floated on the valley breeze at
the quiet turn of sundown. The words were of an ancient song, fit to
laugh or cry at.

Love, an if there be one, Come my love to be, My love is for the one
Loving unto me.

Not for me the show, love, Of a gilded bliss; Only thou must know, love,
What my value is.

If in all the earth, love, Thou hast none but me, This shall be my
worth, love: To be cheap to thee.

But, if so thou ever Strivest to be free, 'Twill be my endeavour To be
dear to thee.

So shall I have plea, love, Is thy heart andbreath Clinging still to
thee, love, In the doom of death.

All this I took in with great eagerness, not for the sake of the meaning
(which is no doubt an allegory), but for the power and richness, and
softness of the singing, which seemed to me better than we ever had even
in Oare church. But all the time I kept myself in a black niche of the
rock, where the fall of the water began, lest the sweet singer (espying
me) s