The time when in proud and happy security we assembled at this cottage, was gone⁠—soon the present hours would join those past, and shadows of future ones rose dark and menacing from the womb of time, their cradle and their bier. For the first time in my life I envied the sleep of the dead, and thought with pleasure of one’s bed under the sod, where grief and fear have no power. I passed through the gap of the broken paling⁠—I felt, while I disdained, the choking tears⁠—I rushed into the depths of the forest. O death and change, rulers of our life, where are ye, that I may grapple with you! What was there in our tranquillity, that excited your envy⁠—in our happiness, that ye should destroy it? We were happy, loving, and beloved; the horn of Amalthea contained no blessing unshowered upon us, but, alas!