through; when Aries, renouncing me now for some lost soul, wheeled, and
went his wiser way.. Forbidding and forbidden ground--to him.

A winter wood road, matted all along with winter-green. By the side of
pebbly waters--waters the cheerier for their solitude; beneath swaying
fir-boughs, petted by no season, but still green in all, on I
journeyed--my horse and I; on, by an old saw-mill, bound down and hushed
with vines, that his grating voice no more was heard; on, by a deep
flume clove through snowy marble, vernal-tinted, where freshet eddies
had, on each side, spun out empty chapels in the living rock; on, where
Jacks-in-the-pulpit, like their Baptist namesake, preached but to the
wilderness; on, where a huge, cross-grain block, fern-bedded, showed
where, in forgotten times, man after man had tried to split it, but lost
his wedges for his pains--which wedges yet rusted in their holes; on,
where, ages past, in step-like ledges of a cascade, skull-hollow pots
had been churned out by ceaseless whirling of a flintstone--ever
wearing, but itself unworn; on, by wild rapids pouring into a secret
pool, but soothed by circling there awhile, issued forth serenely; on,
to less broken ground, and by a little ring, where, truly, fairies must
have danced, or else some wheel-tire been heated--for all was bare;
still on, and up, and out into a hanging orchard, where maidenly looked
down upon me a crescent moon, from morning.

My horse hitched low his head. Red apples rolled before him; Eve's
apples; seek-no-furthers. He tasted one, I another; it tasted of the
ground. Fairy land not yet, thought I, flinging my bridle to a humped
old tree, that crooked out an arm to catch it. For the way now lay where
path was none, and none might go but by himself, and only go by daring.
Through blackberry brakes that tried to pluck me back, though I but
strained towards fruitless growths of mountain-laurel; up slippery