46
WOOD WALK AND HYMN.
But let us pause:
Now have we reached the very inmost heart
Of the old wood.—How the green shadows close
Into a rich, clear, summer darkness round,
A luxury of gloom!—Scarce doth one ray,
Even when a soft wind parts the foliage, steal
O'er the bronzed pillars of these deep arcades;
Or if it doth, 'tis with a mellow'd hue
Of glow-worm colour'd light.
Here, in the days
Of pagan visions, would have been a place
For worship of the wood nymphs! Through these oaks
A small, fair gleaming temple might have thrown
The quivering image of its Dorian shafts
On the stream's bosom; or a sculptured form,
Dryad, or fountain goddess of the gloom,
Have bow'd its head o'er that dark crystal down,
