Of　its　vast　size　and　its　mysterious　tongue。
  How　the　floor　trembled；　and　the　dark　boat　swung
  With　a　man　in　it；　and　a　great　wave　fell
  Within　a　stone's　cast！　　Words　may　never　tell
  The　passion　of　the　moment；　when　I　flung
  All　childish　records　by；　and　felt　arise
  A　thing　that　died　no　more！　　An　awful　power
  I　claimed　with　trembling　hands　and　eager　eyes；
  Mine；　mine　for　ever；　an　immortal　dower。
  The　noise　of　waters　soundeth　to　this　hour；
  When　I　look　seaward　through　the　quiet　skies。
  ON　THE　SOURCE　OF　THE　ARVE。
  Hear'st　thou　the　dash　of　water　loud　and　hoarse
  With　its　perpetual　tidings　upward　climb；
  Struggling　against　the　wind？　　Oh；　how　sublime！
  For　not　in　vain　from　its　portentous　source；
  Thy　heart；　wild　stream；　hath　yearned　for　its　full　force；
  But　from　thine　ice…toothed　caverns　dark　as　time
  At　last　thou　issuest；　dancing　to　the　rhyme
  Of　thy　outvolleying　freedom！　　Lo；　thy　course
  Lies　straight　before　thee　as　the　arrow　flies；
  Right　to　the　ocean…plains。　　Away；　away！
  Thy　parent　waits　thee；　and　her　sunset　dyes
  Are　ruffled　for　thy　coming；　and　the　gray
  Of　all　her　glittering　borders　flashes　high
  Against　the　glittering　rocks：　oh；　haste；　and　fly！
  PART　III。HIS　MANHOOD。
  CHAPTER　I。
  IN　THE　DESERT。
  A　life　lay　behind　Robert　Falconer；　and　a　life　lay　before　him。　　He
  stood　on　a　shoal　between。
  The　life　behind　him　was　in　its　grave。　　He　had　covered　it　over　and
  turned　away。　　But　he　knew　it　would　rise　at　night。
  The　life　before　him　was　not　yet　born；　and　what　should　issue　from
  that　dull　ghastly　unrevealing　fog　on　the　horizon；　he　did　not　care。
  Thither　the　tide　setting　eastward　would　carry　him；　and　his　future
  must　be　born。　　All　he　cared　about　was　to　leave　the　empty　garments　of
  his　dead　behind　himthe　sky　and　the　fields；　the　houses　and　the
  gardens　which　those　dead　had　made　alive　with　their　presence。
  Travel；　motion；　ever　on；　ever　away；　was　the　sole　impulse　in　his
  heart。　　Nor　had　the　thought　of　finding　his　father　any　share　in　his
  restlessness。
  He　told　his　grandmother　that　he　was　going　back　to　Aberdeen。　　She
  looked　in　his　face　with　surprise；　but　seeing　trouble　there；　asked　no
  questions。　　As　if　walking　in　a　dream；　he　found　himself　at　Dr。
  Anderson's　door。
  'Why；　Robert；'　said　the　good　man；　'what　has　brought　you　back？　　Ah！
  I　see。　　Poor　Ericson！　　I　am　very　sorry；　my　boy。　　What　can　I　do　for
  you？'
  'I　can't　go　on　with　my　studies　now；　sir；'　answered　Robert。　'I　have
  taken　a　great　longing　for　travel。　　Will　you　give　me　a　little　money
  and　let　me　go？'
  'To　be　sure　I　will。　　Where　do　you　want　to　go？'
  'I　don't　know。　　Perhaps　as　I　go　I　shall　find　myself　wanting　to　go
  somewhere。　　You're　not　afraid　to　trust　me；　are　you；　sir？'
  'Not　in　the　least；　Robert。　　I　trust　you　perfectly。　　You　shall　do
  just　as　you　please。Have　you　any　idea；　how　much　money　you　will
  want？'
  'No。　Give　me　what　you　are　willing　I　should　spend：　I　will　go　by
  that。'
  'Come　along　to　the　bank　then。　　I　will　give　you　enough　to　start　with。
  Write　at　once　when　you　want　more。　　Don't　be　too　saving。　　Enjoy
  yourself　as　well　as　you　can。　　I　shall　not　grudge　it。'
  Robert　smiled　a　wan　smile　at　the　idea　of　enjoying　himself。　　His
  friend　saw　it；　but　let　it　pass。　　There　was　no　good　in　persuading　a
  man　whose　grief　was　all　he　had　left；　that　he　must　ere　long　part　with
  that　too。　　That　would　have　been　in　lowest　deeps　of　sorrow　to　open　a
  yet　lower　deep　of　horror。　　But　Robert　would　have　refused；　and　would
  have　been　right　in　refusing　to　believe　with　regard　to　himself　what
  might　be　true　in　regard　to　most　men。　　He　might　rise　above　his　grief；
  he　might　learn　to　contain　his　grief；　but　lose　it；　forget　it？never。
  He　went　to　bid　Shargar　farewell。　　As　soon　as　he　had　a　glimpse　of
  what　his　friend　meant；　he　burst　out　in　an　agony　of　supplication。
  'Tak　me　wi'　ye；　Robert；'　he　cried。　'Ye're　a　gentleman　noo。　　I'll　be
  yer　man。　　I'll　put　on　a　livery　coat；　an'　gang　wi'　ye。　　I'll　awa'　to
  Dr。　Anderson。　　He's　sure　to　lat　me　gang。'
  'No；　Shargar；'　said　Robert；　'I　can't　have　you　with　me。　　I've　come
  into　trouble；　Shargar；　and　I　must　fight　it　out　alone。'
  'Ay；　ay；　I　ken。　　Puir　Mr。　Ericson！'
  'There's　nothing　the　matter　with　Mr。　Ericson。　　Don't　ask　me　any
  questions。　　I've　said　more　to　you　now　than　I've　said　to　anybody
  besides。'
  'That　is　guid　o'　you；　Robert。　　But　am　I　never　to　see　ye　again？'
  'I　don't　know。　　Perhaps　we　may　meet　some　day。'
  'Perhaps　is　nae　muckle　to　say；　Robert；'　protested　Shargar。
  'It's　more　than　can　be　said　about　everything；　Shargar；'　returned
  Robert；　sadly。
  'Weel；　I　maun　jist　tak　it　as　't　comes；'　said　Shargar；　with　a
  despairing　philosophy　derived　from　the　days　when　his　mother　thrashed
  him。　'But；　eh！　　Robert；　gin　it　had　only　pleased　the　Almichty　to　sen'
  me　into　the　warl'　in　a　some　respectable　kin'　o'　a　fashion！'
  'Wi'　a　chance　a'　gaein'　aboot　the　country　like　that　curst　villain
  yer　brither；　I　suppose？'　retorted　Robert；　rousing　himself　for　a
  moment。
  'Na；　na；'　responded　Shargar。　'I'll　stick　to　my　ain　mither。　　She
  never　learned　me　sic　tricks。'
  'Do　ye　that。　　Ye　canna　compleen　o'　God。　It's　a'　richt　as　far　's
  ye're　concerned。　　Gin　he　dinna　something　o'　ye　yet；　it'll　be　your
  wyte；　no　his；　I'm　thinkin'。'
  They　walked　to　Dr。　Anderson's　together；　and　spent　the　night　there。
  In　the　morning　Robert　got　on　the　coach　for　Edinburgh。
  I　cannot；　if　I　would；　follow　him　on　his　travels。　　Only　at　times；
  when　the　conversation　rose　in　the　dead　of　night；　by　some　Jacob's
  ladder　of　blessed　ascent；　into　regions　where　the　heart　of　such　a　man
  could　open　as　in　its　own　natural　clime；　would　a　few　words　cause　the
  clouds　that　enveloped　this　period　of　his　history　to　dispart；　and
  grant　me　a　peep　into　the　phantasm　of　his　past。　　I　suspect；　however；
  that　much　of　it　left　upon　his　mind　no　recallable　impressions。　　I
  suspect　that　much　of　it　looked　to　himself　in　the　retrospect　like　a
  painful　dream；　with　only　certain　objects　and　occurrences　standing
  prominent　enough　to　clear　the　moonlight　mist　enwrapping　the　rest。
  What　the　precise　nature　of　his　misery　was　I　shall　not　even　attempt
  to　conjecture。　　That　would　be　to　intrude　within　the　holy　place　of　a
  human　heart。　　One　thing　alone　I　will　venture　to　affirmthat
  bitterness　against　either　of　his　friends；　whose　spirits　rushed
  together　and　left　his　outside；　had　no　place　in　that　noble　nature。
  His　fate　lay　behind　him；　like　the　birth　of　Shargar；　like　the　death
  of　Ericson；　a　decree。
  I　do　not　even　know　in　what　direction　he　first　went。　　That　he　had
  seen　many　cities　and　many　countries　was　apparent　from　glimpses　of
  ancient　streets；　of　mountain…marvels；　of　strange　constellations；　of
  things　in　heaven　and　earth　which　no　one　could　have　seen　but　himself；
  called　up　by　the　magic　of　his　words。　　A　silent　man　in　company；　he
  talked　much　when　his　hour　of　speech　arrived。　　Seldom；　however；　did
  he　narrate　any　incident　save　in　connection　with　some　truth　of　human
  nature；　or　fact　of　the　universe。
  I　do　know　that　the　first　thing　he　always　did　on　reaching　any　new
  place　was　to　visit　the　church　with　the　loftiest　spire；　but　he　never
  looked　into　the　church　itself　until　he　had　left　the　earth　behind　him
  as　far　as　that　church　would　afford　him　the　possibility　of　ascent。
  Breathing　the　air　of　its　highest　region；　he　found　himself　vaguely
  strengthened；　yes　comforted。　　One　peculiar　feeling　he　had；　into
  which　I　could　enter　only　upon　happy　occasion；　of　the　presence　of　God
  in　the　wind。　　He　said　the　wind　up　there　on　the　heights　of　human
  aspiration　always　made　him　long　and　pray。　　Asking　him　one　day
  something　about　his　going　to　church　so　seldom；　he　answered　thus：
  'My　dear　boy；　it　does　me　ten　times　more　good　to　get　outside　the
  spire　than　to　go　inside　the　church。　　The　spire　is　the　most
  essential；　and　consequently　the　most　neglected　part　of　the　building。
  It　symbolizes　the　aspiration　without　which　no　man's　faith　can　hold
  its　own。　　But　the　effort　of　too　many　of　her　priests　goes　to　conceal
  from　the　worshippers　the　fact　that　there　is　such　a　stair；　with　a
  door　to　it　out　of　the　church。　　It　looks　as　if　they　feared　their
  people　would　desert　them　for　heaven。　　But　I　presume　it　arises
  generally　from　the　fact　that　they　know　of　such　an　ascent　themselves；
  only　by　hearsay。　　The　knowledge　of　God　is　good；　but　the　church　is
  better！'
  'Could　it　be；'　I　ventured　to　suggest；　'that；　in　order　to　ascend；
  they　must　put　off　the　priests'　garments？'
  'Good；　my　boy！'　he　answered。　'All　are　priests　up　there；　and　must　be
  clothed　in　fine　linen；　clean　and　whitethe　righteousness　of
  saintsnot　the　imputed　righteousness　of　another；that　is　a　lying
  doctrinebut　their　own　righteousness　which　God　has　wrought　in　them
  by　Christ。'　　I　never　knew　a　man　in　whom　the　inward　was　so　constantly
  clothed　upon　by　the　outward；　whose　ordinary　habits　were　so　symbolic
  of　his　spiritual　tastes；　or　whose　enjoyment　of　the　sight　of　his　eyes
  and　the　hearing　of　his　ears　was　so　much　informed　by