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I was sadly out of tune; my feelings were all
jarred and unstrung. The birds sang from every grove, but I took no
pleasure in their melody; and the flowers of the field bloomed unheeded
around me. To be crossed in love is bad enough; but then one can fly to
poetry for relief, and turn one's woes to account in soul-subduing stanzas.
But to have one's whole passion, object and all, annihilated, dispelled,
proved to be such stuff as dreams are made of--or, worse than all, to be
turned into a proverb and a jest--what consolation is there in such a case?
I avoided the fatal brook where I had seen the footstep. My favorite resort
was now the banks of the Hudson, where I sat upon the rocks and mused upon
the current that dimpled by, or the waves that laved the shore; or watched
the bright mutations of the clouds, and the shifting lights and shadows of
the distant mountain. By degrees a returning serenity stole over my
feelings; and a sigh now and then, gentle and easy, and unattended by pain,
showed that my heart was recovering its susceptibility.


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