For the last time we wandered out that night when the moon had risen, to
take our farewell of the old streets that had given us so much pleasure.
We knew them well, and felt that we were communing with old friends.
Their outlines, their gabled roofs, the deep shadows cast by the pale
moonlight, the warmer reflections from the beautiful latticed
windows--all charmed us. We moved in an ancient world, conversed with
ghosts of a long-past age; the shades of those who had left behind them
so much of the artistic and the excellent; who had, in their day and
hour, lived and breathed and moved even as the world of to-day--had been
animated with the same thoughts and emotions; in a word, had fulfilled
their lot and passed through their birthright of sorrow and suffering.

It was late before we could turn away from the fascination. After the
crowded scenes of the day, we seemed surrounded by the very silence and
repose, the majesty of Death. Everyone had retired to rest; the curfew
had long tolled, and the fires were nearly all out. Only here and there
a lighted lattice spoke of a late watcher, who perhaps was searching for
the philosopher's stone or the elixir of life, wherewith to turn the
grey hairs of age to the flowing locks of youth--the feeble gait of one
stricken in years to the vigour and comeliness of manhood. Vain wish!
and needless; for why will they not look at life in its truer aspect,
and feel that the nearer they approach to death the younger they are
growing?




MY MAY-QUEEN

(_Ætat_ 4).