Page:The Indian Orphan.pdf/13

68 joy succeeding tears. Never could the banks of the Avon have been seen to a greater advantage. On one side of the river rose rocks totally bare, but of every colour and every form; on the other side, banks equally high were covered with trees in their thickest foliage; the one Nature's stupendous fortress, the other her magnificent pavilion of leaves. One or two uncovered masses appeared like the lingering foot-prints of desolation; but in general where the statelier trees had not taken root, the soil was luxuriantly covered with heath, and the golden-blossomed furze. On the left, dew and sunshine seemed wholly to have fallen in vain: riven in every direction, the rocks had assumed a thousand different shapes, in which the eye might trace, or fancy it traced, every variety of ruin, spire, or turret—the mouldering battlement, the falling tower. Here and there a solitary bramble had taken root, almost as bare and desolate as the spot where it grew. The contrast between the banks was like prosperity and adversity. I do think, if ever any body was happy I was, for the next two years. It is strange, though true, that the happiest part of our life, is the shortest in detail. We dwell on the tempest that wrecked, the flood that overwhelmed—but we pass over in silence the numerous days we have spent in summer and sunshine. Mrs. Audley was to me as a mother, and Edward and I loved each other with all the deep luxury of love in youth. It was luxury, for it was unconscious. Love is not happiness: hopes, pleasure, delicious and passionate moments of rapture—all these belong in love, but