How
Different Was The Fresh Odour That Reanimated Me In The Avenue, From
The Damp Chillness Of The Apartments; And As Little Did The Gloomy
Thoughtfulness Excited By The Dusty Hangings, And Worm-Eaten
Pictures, Resemble The Reveries Inspired By The Soothing Melancholy
Of Their Shade.
In the winter, these august pines, towering above
the snow, must relieve the eye beyond measure and give life to the
white waste.
The continual recurrence of pine and fir groves in the day sometimes
wearies the sight, but in the evening, nothing can be more
picturesque, or, more properly speaking, better calculated to
produce poetical images. Passing through them, I have been struck
with a mystic kind of reverence, and I did, as it were, homage to
their venerable shadows. Not nymphs, but philosophers, seemed to
inhabit them - ever musing; I could scarcely conceive that they were
without some consciousness of existence - without a calm enjoyment of
the pleasure they diffused.
How often do my feelings produce ideas that remind me of the origin
of many poetical fictions. In solitude, the imagination bodies
forth its conceptions unrestrained, and stops enraptured to adore
the beings of its own creation. These are moments of bliss; and the
memory recalls them with delight.
But I have almost forgotten the matters of fact I meant to relate,
respecting the counts. They have the presentation of the livings on
their estates, appoint the judges, and different civil officers, the
Crown reserving to itself the privilege of sanctioning them.
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