Page:Romance & Reality 3.pdf/302

300 than up it, was high and steep. On one side was a thick hedge, which shut out all from the horseman's view; but the other was bounded by a paling. Beyond it lay the sweep of a park, whose green was touched as if with snow by the moonlight, which grew clearer and lighter every moment, as the thick clouds broke away. The silvery light, which at first only played on their ridges, gradually extended its dominion, like Persuasion to Pity, softening the dark heart of Anger. The black masses melted into soft, white clouds, which went floating over air as if they rejoiced in their change. The park was dotted with trees, all single, and of an immense size; and the wind just stirred their leaves with a soft sound, like the falling of summer rain. There is something melancholy in most natural sounds—the murmur of the sea—the dropping of water—the many voices of the wind, from that which only scatters a rose, to that which levels mast and flag with the wave; but Nature has no sound more melancholy than that rainy tone among the leaves: you listen, and then look, as if the shower were descending; but your extended hand catches not the drops, and the