return to herself that this mysterious
nature first fluted through his lips:

Come away, O human child,
To the Woods and waters wild
With a faery hand in hand:

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Away! yes, yes; to wander on and on under star-rich skies, ever getting
deeper into the net, the love that will not let us rest, the peace above
the desire of love. The village lights in heaven and earth, each with
their own peculiar hint of home, draw us hither and thither, where it
matters not, so the voice calls and the heart-light burns.

Some it leads to the crowded ways; some it draws apart: and the Light
knows, and not any other, the need and the way.

If you ask me what has the mountain to do with these inspirations, and
whether the singer would not anywhere out of his own soul have made an
equal song, I answer to the latter, I think not. In these lofty places
the barrier between the sphere of light and the sphere of darkness are
fragile, and the continual ecstasy of the high air communicates itself,
and I have also heard from others many tales of things seen and heard
here which show that the races of the Sidhe are often present. Some have
seen below the mountain a blazing heart of light, others have heard the
Musical beating of a heart, of faery bells, or aerial clashings, and the
heart-beings have also spoken; so it has gathered around itself its own
traditions of spiritual romance and adventures of the soul.

Let no one call us dreamers when the mind is awake. If we grew forgetful
and felt no more the bitter human struggle--yes. But if we bring to it
the hope and courage of those who are assured of the nearby presence and
encircling love of the great powers? I would bring to my mountain the
weary spirits who are obscured in the fetid city where life decays into
rottenness; and call thither those who are in doubt, the pitiful and
trembling hearts who are skeptic of any hope, and place them where the
dusky vapors of their thought might dissolve in the inner light, and
their doubts vanish on the mountain top where the earthbreath streams
away to the vast, when the night glows like a seraph, and the spirit is
beset by the evidence of a million of suns to the grandeur of the nature
wherein it lives and whose destiny must be its also.

After all, is not this longing but a search for ourselves, and where
shall we find ourselves at last? Not in this land nor wrapped in thes