It seemed to me in my vision that the morning was strangely transparent.
No clouds dulled the ether above. Far over the wide green space rose the
sun, and in front of the House on the Hill stood a horse already
saddled, impatiently wounding the velvety grass with his iron hoofs, and
snuffing with wide nostrils the fresh breeze from the valley. Near him
stood his young master. The light in his blue eye was bright as the
young beam of the day. He had one foot in the stirrup, and the other on
the soft home-turf; with one hand caressing the long waving mane of the
steed, and the other clasped in the grasp of the man from whom he was
taking leave--they knew not for how long, but yet felt it was not
forever. Words were pouring from the heart of the one into the heart of
the other. The elder, he who stood on the ground and was to move on on
foot, kept his gaze steadily fixed on the rocks and forests lying beyond
the smooth green turf. The younger, with raised eyes, gazed into the
sky, as if absorbing its light in the blue lustrous pupils; and when he
spoke, his voice was like the fresh breath of spring. The elder spoke
more slowly, almost sternly, as though advising, warning, beseeching--as
if he loved deeply, yet doubted, feared; but the younger had no fear, no
doubts--he pledged himself and vowed--threw himself first into the arms
of his friend, then leaped into his saddle. He pushed his horse rapidly
on, swift as the arrow skims the plain, or the mountain stream plunges
below.
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