image. Nearer and nearer it droops—every hour seems to hasten their union. It comes, but it is brought by death; the leaves fall on the treacherous mirror; and, lo! the likeness which they have worshipped has perished with themselves—fit emblem of that passion for the ideal which haunts the tender and the imaginative mind through life, ever desired, and never realised. And who is there that, at some time or other, has not devoted the hope and the dream of life to a shadow?
Close beside a tranquil pool, for the moonbeams melted harmoniously into its quiet depths, was an old tree. Two stems had once sprang from the same root; one had fallen, and the other leant mournfully over the stream, as if sadly waiting the time which would mingle its own dust with that of its beloved companion, and weary of the green honours of the coming spring, in which it delighted no more. The old trunk was overgrown with moss, and there Francesca took her seat, flinging down violets on the water, and fancying their fragrant breath, as they gradually sank, reproached her for her prodigality.
"Yes, let them perish, even as all sweet emotions perish!—wasted by ourselves, or crushed by others. Methinks I grow cruel, and am fain to destroy even these poor flowers!" exclaimed
