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Rh soul, hour after hour, worship at the same source as thine? "In the gardens of my neighbour there is a small fountain. I stood by it this morning after sunrise. How it sprung up, with its eager spray, to the sunbeams! And then I thought that I should see thee again this day, and so sprung my heart to the new morning which thou bringest me from the skies. "1 have seen, I have listened to thee again. How bold I have become! I ran on with my childlike thoughts and stories, my recollections of the past, as if I had known thee from an infant. Suddenly the idea of my presumption struck me. I stopped, and timidly sought thine eyes.

Well, and when you found that the nightingale refused to sing?' —

Ah!' I said, 'what to thee this history of the heart of a child?'

Viola,' didst thou answer, with that voice, so inexpressibly calm and earnest! — 'Viola, the darkness of a child's heart is often but the shadow of a star. Speak on! And thy nightingale, when they caught and caged it, refused to sing?'

And I placed the cage yonder, amidst the vine-leaves, and took up my lute, and spoke to it on the strings ; for I thought that all music was its native language, and it would understand that I sought to comfort it.'