It Is An Alien Tongue, Full Of Deeps And
Rippling Shallows Uncomprehended Of Those Who Know Nothing Of Lonely
Places; Full Of Thrills And Silences Such As Are Not Encountered Among
The Habitations Of Men.
It echoes the multitudinous voice of nature, and
distils the smiles and tears of things non-human.
This man listened, all
alone; he overheard things to which other ears are deaf - things terrible
and sweet; the sigh of some wet Naiad by a reedy lake, the pleadings and
furies of the genii - of those that whisper in woodlands and caverns by
the sea, and ride wailing on thunder-laden clouds, and rock with ripe
laughter in sunny wildernesses. Brahms is the test. Whoso dreads
solitude will likewise dread his elemental humour.
It kept me company, this melodious and endearing fairy, till where a
path, diverging to the right, led up to the ruins already visible. There
the ethereal comrade took flight, scared, maybe, because my senses took
on a grossly mundane complexion - it is a way they have, thank
God - became absorbed, that is, in the contemplation of certain
blackberries wherewith the hedge was loaded. I thought: the tons of
blackberries that fall to earth in Italy, unheeded! And not even a
Scotsman knows what blackberries are, until he has tasted these. I am no
gourmet of such wild things; I rather agree with Goethe when he says:
"How berries taste, you must ask children." But I can sympathise with
the predilections of others, having certain predilections of my own.
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