could see in the depth of the water clearly revealed the outlines of
the yellow-striped summits of limestone. Flowers of frost, of sky, and
of blood were woven into the carpets of the forests of beech and fir.
After having passed over them the breeze went forth again even more
softly, more fragrant, more ice-like in its purity.

Like a blue flood the marvelous cone-like trees, interwoven with
silvery lichens, stretched upward. Waterfalls as if suspended from
the rocky crags, scattered in a smoke-like spray. And suddenly the
heavenly flocks sent forth their bleating toward God, and the ecstatic
bells wept for the shadow of the ferns. And the dark water of the
grottoes broke in the light.

Lying amid the wild laurel the lamb of the Gospel became visible
again. Its paw rested under its nose, and was still bleeding. The
roads over which it had passed had been hard, but soon it would be
fully restored by the slightly acid sweetness of the myrtles. Even now
it was quivering as it listened to its scattered companions.

On entering this Paradise to dwell therein the sheep of Francis saw
the lamb of Jean de la Fontaine amid the forget-me-nots which were
of the mirror-like color of the waves. It no longer disputed with
the wolf of the fable. It drank, and the water did not become turbid
thereat. The untamed spring over which the two hundred year old ivy
seemed to have thrown a shadow of bitterness, streamed on amid
the grass with its broken waves in which were mirrored the snowy
tremblings of the lamb.

And high on the slopes of the _happy valleys_ they saw the sheep of
those heroes that Cervantes tells about, all of whom were sick at