But Edwin, who had for some time lost sight of the chariot,
took no notice of a way, covered with moss and overgrown with bushes;
and pursued the more beaten road. Swift was his course; but the swifter
he flew, the farther still he wandered from the object of his search. A
rapid brook flowed across his path, which the descending rains had
swelled into a river. Without a moment's hesitation, accoutered as he
was, he plunged in. Instantly he gained the opposite bank, and divided
the air before him, like an arrow in its flight.
In the mean time, the storm had ceased, the darkness was dispersed, and
only a few thin and fleecy clouds were scattered over the blue expanse.
The sun had for some time sunk beneath the western hills. The heavens,
clear and serene, had assumed a deeper tint, and were spangled over with
stars. The moon, in calm and silver lustre, lent her friendly light to
the weary traveller. Edwin was fatigued and faint. He tried to give vent
to his complaints; but his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth: his
spirits sunk within him. No sound now reached his ears but the baying of
the shepherds dogs, and the _drowsy tinklings_ of the _distant
folds_. The owl, the solemn bird of night, sat buried among the
branches of the aged oak, and with her melancholy hootings gave an
additional serenity to the scene.
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